


The Elements of Surprise

by Ecoutez



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-09 09:29:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 42
Words: 142,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4343291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ecoutez/pseuds/Ecoutez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Salut, mes amis! Please be warned this chapter is a bit NSFW. Merci!</p></blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Hiccup was in the Academy, straightening the saddles and counting the supply ropes in one of the storage areas when he heard Tuffnut and Fishlegs come in behind him. He turned to greet them both, but the look on Fishlegs’ face stopped him. Fishlegs somehow looked embarrassed and frightened at the same time, his ears bright red and his face white. His hands were shaking and he kept opening and closing his mouth like a codfish.

“That’s what Uncle Gunnarr said, anyway,” Tuffnut said, shrugging.

Hiccup crossed the room. “Fishlegs, what’s wrong?”

Tuffnut put his hand on Fishlegs’ shoulder, and turned to face Hiccup. Fishlegs was still staring into the distance, unfocused and clearly freaked out. “Uncle Gunnarr gave me some, ah, advice last night, and I was sharing it with Fishlegs.”

Hiccup frowned. “What kind of advice? Wait, who is Uncle Gunnarr?”

“He’s my uncle.”

“I gathered that.”

“He’s here to visit my mom. He’s been at sea for so long with the Berzerkers, he had all kinds of stories. Like, more than Johann. More than three Johanns. And they were good stories, too - adventure stories, scary stories, and, you know, _useful_ stories.” Tuffnut waggled his eyebrows. Hiccup remained confused, and Fishlegs didn’t appear to be aware of anything.

“Useful stories?” Tuff didn’t elaborate. He’d gotten distracted by a broken length of spear and Hiccup knew it was useless to try to talk to him.

“Fishlegs, do you need to sit down?”

Fishlegs shook his head. “It’s the most… thing I’ve ever heard,” he mumbled, his face bleak.

“What thing? What happened?”

Fishlegs made eye contact with Hiccup, but shut his mouth with an audible snap. He shook his head, refusing to speak.

Hiccup was about to ask Tuffnut again just what he’d told Fishlegs when Snotlout walked in. Well, as much as Snotlout walked anywhere. He strutted or pushed, and sometimes, if Hookfang tossed him off his saddle, he fell into rooms. Today it was strutting, and he flexed his arms, filling the doorway with his body and the rest of the room with his voice.

“Hey! Did you miss me?”

“No,” Tuffnut said. “But you’re going to be sorry _you_ missed _me_.”

Snotlout pushed his helmet back on his head and glared. “What are you talking about? You’re right here. I didn’t miss you.”

“Not now me. Earlier me. The talking me. From before. You missed me.”

Snotlout turned to Hiccup with his palms up, a confused expression on his face.

“I’m as lost as you, Snotlout. Tuff, what did you say to Fishlegs?”

“And why does Fishlegs look like he’s about to pass out?” Snotlout was suddenly very interested in the conversation.

“Oh! It’s because I told him everything Uncle Gunnarr told me last night. Things I can't really tell the likes of you.” Tuff stuck his chest out, nodding sagely at each of them. Hiccup saw Snotlout make a fist and jumped between them.

“I got that part, Tuff, thank you. What exactly did Gunnarr tell you?”

“You don’t want to know, Hiccup,” Fishlegs said in a quiet voice.

“I want to know,” Snotlout declared.

“Well, I suppose I could share it with you, though you’re not part of the Berzerker heritage,” Tuff said, tapping his chin. "Your constitution isn't so strong and full of strength like ours."

“Hiccup, outta my way. I’m going to punch him.”

“Your punches cannot harm me!” Tuff brandished the half spear in his hand, spinning it wildly and almost cutting his ear in the process. “I have been given the secrets to eternal life and happiness!”

“Is that what has Fishlegs so upset?” At least Fishlegs looked at little better, Hiccup thought. He had color in his face again, though he was slowly turning more and more red.

“Oh, no,” Tuffnut said, tossing his spear over his shoulder. “He hasn’t been the same since I told him about the book of Not Dragons.”

Both Snotlout and Hiccup spoke in unison. “The what?”

“I gotta go. Bye!” Fishlegs nearly ran out of the room and up the ramp to where Meatlug was waiting for him.

“Well, it’s not the book of dragons, but it is a book, so I figure that’s what it’s called.”

“The book of Not Dragons? Seriously?” Snotlout was rubbing his fist with his hand. Tuffnut didn’t appear to notice.

“Why would a book of ‘not dragons’ scare Fishlegs?”

Tuffnut stepped close to Hiccup and lowered his voice, his eyes wide and excited. Snotlout moved closer. “Because, my friends, it contains the secrets to everything.”

Hiccup was ready to end this conversation and go home, but Snotlout had other ideas. “Like what?”

“Well, remember when we got the talk?”

Hiccup felt his neck begin to turn red. This conversation was not something he wanted to hear. Maybe he could catch up to Fishlegs.

“Yeah,” Snotlout replied, his voice impatient. “That was years ago.”

“The book of Not Dragons is like the talk, only better.”

Hiccup wanted to step back, but Tuffnut still had his arm on Hiccup’s shoulder, and Snotlout was suddenly extremely interested in everything being said. “Better... how?”

Oh, Gods. This was not going to end well.

“Well, imagine every possible thing you could possibly imagine.”

Snotlout looked at Tuffnut, unimpressed.

“Whatever it is, it’s in the book of Not Dragons.”

“Ok, I have no idea what you’re talking about, but you’re annoying, so I’m leaving.”

Hiccup tried not to sound audibly relieved as Tuffnut followed Snotlout out of the room, arguing with him about the secrets of life and happiness as they left the arena. He finished cleaning up the room, hiding the half a spear that Tuffnut had found, and arranging the other equipment. He was about to shut the door and lock it when Tuffnut came back.

“What now, Tuffnut?”

“I need to ask you for some help.” Tuffnut was looking over his shoulder while pushing Hiccup back into the room.

“Can you make it quick?”

“Yeah. Quick. Good call. Need to move fast.”

Hiccup stood and waited. Tuffnut stared at him blankly. “What do you need, Tuffnut?”

“Oh! Right. I need something that locks.”

“What, like a room? A chain? Can this maybe wait until tomorrow?”

“No, no, it cannot wait. I must hide this from Ruffnut or she’ll- no, no, let’s not even speak of it.”

“Not a problem, since I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Hiccup. The Book of Not Dragons is mine and mine alone, and I need to hide it from her snooping, thieving, devious —“

“Ok, ok,” Hiccup said, holding his palms up. “I get it. You need something to put the book in. How big is it?”

Tuffnut held up his arms and began to describe the book to Hiccup, while Hiccup tried to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He pulled out his notebook quickly and wrote down what Tuffnut was saying.

“So, right. You need a box, something that locks, fairly impossible to break open. Do I have that right?”

“Yes! And it should be soft on the inside, too. I don’t want to damage the leather. It’s a really nice, soft cover, a dark dark red, feels good on my skin. Looks good, too. If I wear it.”

“You wear it, and the book feels good on your - no, no. I do not want to know." Hiccup lifted his head and looked at Tuffnut. "Wait, red? It’s dark red leather?”

“Yeah, really dark, like burnt red, with a big swoopy-thing on the front, and a bunch of marks in it, but I ignore those. The back is smooth, supple, and I like to rub it on my-“

“No. Stop right there.”

“Hey, guys. What’s up?”

“Hey, Astrid,” Hiccup said, thankful to be interrupted, yet wondering how long it would be until he got to go home and eat.

“Oh, nothing, nothing. See you later, Hiccup!” Tuffnut ran out the door and up the ramp, turning to make some strange gesture at Hiccup, followed by a thumbs up, before he disappeared.

“What’s with him?”

“I have no idea,” Hiccup replied, shaking his head.


	2. Taking the Faster Route

Astrid helped Hiccup close up the supply area, and made sure the door was locked. But Hiccup checked it again, pulling on the lock and then the door to make sure it was shut. 

“Afraid someone’s going to steal a saddle?” 

“No, but…. No.” She noticed his smile didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Ready for dinner?”

“Dinner?” They started the long walk back to the village. Astrid walked a bit slower, partly because Hiccup was probably tired and sore from all the flying he’d done, and partly because she wanted to walk with him as long as possible. She slid her hand into his, easy and familiar, and felt the rough callouses on his fingertips as his hand close over hers. She’d thought a lot about the roughness of his hands lately. She thought about it now and felt her face grow warm. 

“Yeah, you know, meal you eat at the end of the day, usually loud and messy, often surrounded by vikings, depending where you eat it?”

“Oh, right - yeah. But I’m - I’m having a talk with my dad so I have to, uh-“

“Oh, boy. What’s wrong now?” 

He let go of her hand and pushed his hair back from his face. “Nothing! Nothing at all. Why would anything be wrong?”

She stopped walking. “Hiccup.”

“What?”

“You know you’re a really lousy liar, right?”

Hiccup looked at the ground, his eyebrows together and his cheeks red, then met her eyes. “Only with you.”

“Well, can’t say I mind that,” Astrid said, switching her axe to her other shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“Tuff was talking about this book-“

“Oh, not him, too. The Book of Not Dragons?”

Hiccup gaped at her. “How’d you know?” 

“Ruffnut. All afternoon she was telling me about it. Couldn’t get her to stop.” They started walking again, and this time Astrid waited for him to touch her, to take her hand. He didn’t. He kept rubbing the back of his neck, looking at the ground in front of them. 

“So you… know what it is?”

Astrid frowned. Did his voice just crack? “Well, yeah, I do now. Not like I could avoid hearing about it. I got all the details. _Way_ too many details.” 

“You did?”

“Yeah. She said she read it while Tuffnut was out doing….” Astrid waved her hand. “Something I didn’t want to know about. She tried to explain some of the pages but I couldn’t figure out what she meant. So I nodded a lot.”

“Right,” Hiccup said. She glanced at him, and looked again. His cheeks were so red she could almost see his pulse.   

Then he asked about her flight that day, and where she and Ruffnut had taken a group of dragon riders. She let him change the subject, since she’d have more time to talk to him after the bonfires. Maybe after he ate he would stop being so weird. Well, slightly less weird. 

The sun looked like it was beginning to lean slightly toward the ocean, signaling evening in the middle of summer, when they reached the fork in the path. If Hiccup took the steeper route, he’d end up at his house faster, but he usually didn’t go that way. It was rocky and difficult, and they usually took the longer route together, so she started down the well-trod path before realizing he wasn’t with her. 

He’d turned up the hill, his metal leg resting on he first rise of the path. “I gotta - yeah. See you later? Bonfires, right?”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. His entire face was bright red, and he couldn’t look directly at her. What was wrong with him?

Astrid wanted to hit him with her axe, but she restrained herself. Barely. She had time to figure out what was going on. And she’d see him later that evening. There were still a lot of hours left in the day, and they always left the bonfires together. They’d definitely talk later. 

Her grip tightened on her axe slightly anyway, because it was so tempting to charge at any problem to make it go away.

“Yup. See you there.”

He turned and climbed the hill, and she took a few steps down the path. 

Then she turned to watch his ascent. Even if she was a little sad that he wasn’t walking with her, watching Hiccup climb was always a great view. 

 

…

 

Hiccup hurried up the hill, cursing his own impatience and his inability to lie to Astrid while trying to move as fast as he could toward his house. He did have to talk to his father, but it wasn’t urgent. He did, however, have to get to his house. Now.

The book Tuffnut had described sounded terribly familiar, so much that Hiccup felt like he had a ball of ice in his stomach that wouldn’t melt. If Tuff had stolen it, Hiccup wasn’t sure what he would do. Die of embarrassment, maybe. That might be preferable. It would be the easy way out. 

The back of his shirt was sticking to him when he reached the top of the hill, and he pulled it away from his skin as he glanced down the steps leading to Meade Hall. No one around, no one likely to stop him or ask him for -

“Hiccup!” Oh, Gods. 

“Hi, Gobber.” If only he’d moved a little faster. 

“I was looking for ye.” Hiccup waited as Gobber let the enormous hall door swing shut behind him, then made his way down the stone steps. 

“What’s, um, what do you need?”

“Yer father’s looking for ye, too.” Gobber came to a wheezing stop in front of Hiccup, adjusting his trousers and hiking up the waistband. Hiccup felt momentarily sorry for whomever might be standing below them. Gobber still hadn’t found a truly suitable belt buckle since he’d given his to the Boneknapper. Or maybe he didn’t want to find one. Maybe he’d grown to enjoy spending hours each day pulling his pants up. 

“You couldn’t have shouted that from up there?”

“Nah, not polite.”

Hiccup was baffled that Gobber would be suddenly concerned at all with manners. Was everyone going to be strange today?

“Anyway, he’s gone to help some of the men with a tangled net, needs you and some dragons to help tilt the boat. Seems the net’s caught on something beneath, and they can’t free it.”

“I was just heading to the house….”

“I’ll go with you, then walk ye down. Good plan.”

“On second thought, let’s just go now. Wouldn’t want to keep Dad waiting.”

“Off we go, then.”

With a glance over his shoulder at the front door to his home, Hiccup turned and followed Gobber down the steps and toward the docks below. 

 


	3. Finally Home

After helping his father slowly tilt one of the fishing boats so one of the men could remove the net caught on the bottom ridge of the hull, Hiccup was ready to go home. But he couldn’t. He had to stand awkwardly, unable to leave, as all the assembled vikings told stories about fish that got away and nets that were sliced in half by water dragons they never saw but knew were there.

Retrieving the netting hadn’t taken very long. The sun had moved a bit, and the shadows were longer, which meant the bonfires would be starting soon, but he still hadn’t eaten. Hiccup was starving and more than a little irritable.

He was half-listening to what Stoick and the others were saying, but he knew he couldn’t turn and go. It was the same conversations he’d heard at least once a week if not more, but as he’d learned, it was still important to have them. People valued time with Stoick and Hiccup, valued being listened to, even if what they were saying was a repeat of what they’d said a few weeks ago. Reusing the same words didn't make them less important to the person speaking, so he listened.

Hiccup didn’t think he’d be able to relax or fully pay attention until he got to his room, but he couldn’t think of a way to extract himself from the group without causing offense or, more likely, having his dad follow him home. And he needed a few minutes alone.

Then Stoick turned and clapped a hand on his shoulder, nearly dropping Hiccup through the planks beneath them.

“Son. Let’s go eat.”

Hiccup rolled his shoulder and nodded. “Agreed.”

During the long walk up to their house, which took six times as long because everyone had to stop to talk to them both, Hiccup reassured himself that there was no way it was the same book. Tuffnut couldn’t easily get into his room - not that Hiccup knew of - and if he had, he would have told Hiccup and everyone else in Berk that he’d done it. Well, maybe not. Tuffnut wasn’t the most easily understood person in Berk. He might have told everyone twice already and made no sense doing so. But Hiccup didn’t think anyone had been in his house, or in his room.

“See you tomorrow, then,” Stoick was saying, bidding goodnight to Fishlegs’ mother. “We’ll close that hole in the roof. It shouldn’t rain but we’ll fix it before it does.”

As Stoick turned to continue walking, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Hiccup glanced at him, uneasy. That sound usually meant something was on Stoick’s mind, something he didn’t know how to talk about. Hiccup figured maybe his father was trying to force the words out by breathing deeply, like additional air could push whatever was on his mind out into the open. Whatever the reason, if Stoick sounded like winds blowing a longship sail, it meant he had something he wanted to say.

They reached the house without further interruption, and Hiccup closed the door behind them. There was bread and water on the table, which he’d left out that morning before he’d gone to get Toothless, but there were also a large bowl of something else, too. Something that was still steaming hot and smelled delicious.

“What’s this?”

“No idea,” Hiccup replied. They both approached the table cautiously, like a snake or a Terrible Terror might jump out from behind whatever was making both their stomachs growl.

“Looks like… mutton? And vegetables?”

“Yeah, smells like it.”

Someone had snuck in…and left food? Better than stealing books, he supposed.

“Who’d bring food and leave it here?”

“Not Gobber,” Hiccup answered, crossing the room to grab spoons and a mug for each of them.

Stoick laughed. “No, not likely. He’d still be here and the bowl would be empty.” Abruptly, Stoick’s face grew thoughtful. “I wonder… no, couldn’t be that.”

“What?” Hiccup pulled up a chair and pushed the bowl toward his father, who picked it up and looked closer at the meat inside.

“You’re not eating?”

“Bonfire tonight.”

Stoick nodded and stirred his meal carefully, his large hands dwarfing the bowl, which was overfull and smelled incredibly tempting.

“So, you were saying?”

“Oh. Right. Well, from time to time, er….” Stoick frowned at the table and Hiccup saw, to his utter shock, that his father’s face matched his beard.

Hiccup bit the inside of his lips to keep from laughing. “You think this is a, um, special gift, maybe, for you?”

“Could be for you,” Stoick said, raising one eyebrow. He stirred the contents of his bowl and tried to glare across the table at his son. It wasn’t a great effort, in Hiccup’s opinion. He’d seen worse.

Hiccup reached across the table and took a spoonful from his father’s bowl, not aware of just how hot the food was, and found himself having to speak around the food that was attempting to incinerate his mouth. “Not… likely. Astrid’s… not… a great cook.” He swallowed, grabbing his mug of water to cool off the burns on his tongue. “And this is delicious.”

Stoick glared at Hiccup’s spoon and his audacity. Much more powerful, that glare.

“Look, Dad, whoever it might be-“

“Not letting good mutton go to waste,” Stoick said, interrupting him. “Agreed. And this is mine. So keep your spoon to yourself.”

…

Hiccup only glanced at the stairs behind his father a handful of times. Maybe four. He tried not to count. He talked with his father about different things going on in the village, what the next group of dragon riders would be doing, what tasks they could be put in charge of, and what improvements Stoick wanted for the various buildings in Berk make before winter returned.

Summer — and Hiccup realized both he and his father thought this way — was like a visitor. A beautiful, welcome guest who stayed not nearly long enough, and whom they treated each year as a miracle, a wonder that they didn’t have much time to appreciate. Winter was home, the expected, long, and never-ending normal state of Berk. Summer was a gift, and a rare and priceless one at that.

So once Stoick finished and washed the bowl in the bucket of water they kept by the fire, he grabbed his axe and headed for the door. The sun was still up, and the air was warm and welcoming, so there was time to get more done before it was too cold to do anything at all.

Hiccup was looking at the bowl, trying to identify whose it was, when Stoick spoke from the doorway. “See you later.”

“Yeah,” Hiccup replied, looking up briefly. “You going to be out late?”

“Aye,” Stoick said. “Goodnight, then.”

Hiccup was stunned, frozen in place while the door shut behind his father. He’d expected a laughing denial, but instead, Stoick had sounded… strange. He nearly chased after his father to ask where he was planning on going, but decided against it. His dad could have secrets.

They wouldn’t last long, anyway. Somehow everyone in Berk knew what everyone else was doing. It wasn’t that big of a place. And people in Berk were extra-focused and fascinated by the chief, and by extension, Hiccup. He knew it was normal, but the feeling that he was always being watched and observed was a feeling he still struggled with. Especially lately.

The thought immediately brought the ice back to his stomach. He put the bowl near the door, then turned and ran up the stairs to his room.


	4. Halting and Starting

Hiccup’s room looked the same as it had when he’d left it that morning. His blanket was thrown across the bed. His pillow was there, and the small fabric model of Toothless sat on the table along with a notebook and a scrap of charcoal. His desk was a mess, as usual, and the various pieces, projects, and drawings that made up his life were in their normal places, which meant they were pretty much everywhere. Toothless was out, probably eating fish down at the academy with the other dragons, so his bed was empty, too. Hiccup was alone. 

At least, he thought he was. Hiccup stood quietly for a moment, making sure no one was in the house with him, that his dad hadn’t come back in looking for something. 

Then he rolled his eyes at himself. Stoick couldn’t go anywhere quietly, and certainly not anywhere in the house. The wood creaked when his father looked at it, let alone walked across it. He was definitely alone. 

Hiccup lifted the top of his desk slightly and slid his fingertips along the side, careful to avoid splinters. He’d built his own desk, one of the first projects he’d completed after learning all the techniques used in the forge. It didn’t look like something built in the forge. It looked like a wooden desk. But when he’d learned how to join flat pieces at an angle, and how to hide the weight of internal metal by balancing it across different pieces of wood, he’d had an idea for improving his desk, which at the time had been built of scraps from old tables. 

His fingertips hit the catch, and he pressed against it, waiting until he felt the spring-loaded clasp inside snap back before he lifted the top. Hidden inside was a slender metal box, just big enough to hold some maps, or assorted piles of paper. Maybe some pencils. And a book. 

Hiccup knew from the moment he picked it up that the box was not empty, that no one had found it, let alone opened it. But he still had to check. Several hours of worrying weren’t going to be relieved by rational logic. He had to see for himself. 

Using the key that he’d hid in the drawer of his bedside table, Hiccup opened the box, still holding his breath, tense and silent lest anyone discover him. He knew he was being ridiculous, and would eventually laugh at himself. But not yet. 

Inside the box was a large, dark red leather book, sewn with black cord and branded with a symbol and markings Hiccup still couldn’t identify. 

He opened a few pages. They were all there. He didn’t spend too long turning them - he needed to get to the bonfire while there was still food left. But the sketches were all in place. The light coming in from the window above his bed was more than enough to highlight the drawing of a hand, a curve, a set of lines and arrows, all surrounded by a few words that Hiccup hadn’t fully deciphered, but was pretty sure he understood. Somewhat.

The book was there, the information within it was still his. Its existence was still his secret. 

Well, mostly his. 

He put the book down on his bed, and glanced at it repeatedly as he removed most of his leather flight suit. The book wasn’t capable of movement on its own that he know of, but he kept looking at it anyway, again with the knowledge that he’d laugh at himself. Eventually.  

Unbuckling all the layers of his leather armor took some doing, but once he’d stripped down to his leggings, he relaxed even further. It was so hot and sticky lately, that if he wasn’t flying, he was sweltering. Maybe he could design something lighter in weight, or with layers to remove if it got too warm, or add, since it was more likely to be colder soon than warmer. Warm didn’t last long in Berk. 

After pulling on a shirt he hadn’t worn in a year, since most of the time flying above Berk demanded long sleeves, he ran his fingers through his hair. He felt strange, like he wasn’t wearing enough clothing because his arms were bare, even though he knew the evening air would be humid and thick for hours, and he’d spend much of the evening sitting by a fire. 

Then he sat down on his bed and opened the book again. It had been awhile since he’d looked at it, since that time when he’d felt like he didn’t know anything and needed to study a book he couldn’t entirely understand. Well, the text was troublesome. The pictures were pretty clear. 

He turned toward the pages in the back, ones he hadn’t spent a lot of time with because they were mostly text, paragraphs and sweeping arrows connecting other blocks of text, all written in a strange, curling language that he hadn’t been able to entirely decode, no matter how much he tried. He thought he’d figured out a word, a handful of letters, but even using those tiny clues hadn’t unlocked the pages and pages of text.  

The last few pages of the book were blank, with one line of text written at the top. Maybe whomever had written it expected the next owner to fill in the blank spaces with his or her own knowledge. Hiccup felt his cheeks begin to turn red at the thought. He didn’t have that much to add, but he had some ideas. 

With shake of his head, he picked up the book and placed it back into its box. He locked it up, and hid it beneath the surface of his desk. He was scattering his drawings across the top to make it look like he’d been working on something when one sheet of paper caught on a rough edge of the wood. 

It was a sketch of Astrid’s hair, her braid over her shoulder, her face turned away, looking to the horizon. He’d drawn it ages ago, sometime the previous winter, one night when he’d been up late, unable to sleep, and unable to stop thinking about her. As it had in the past, drawing the things that were stuck in his mind made those images stop tormenting him, so he’d sketched for a few hours by the light of a small stub of a candle. 

But he hadn’t burned this sketch like he had with so many others, the sketches he didn’t want anyone to see. That was strange. Why hadn’t he? He looked at the image closely, both evaluating the accuracy of his drawing and whether he needed to burn it. Maybe he could keep it, if he hid it well enough. It would cause some questions if someone, like his father or Gobber, found a sketch of Astrid among the things on his desk, but it would be even worse if those questioning knew that he was trying to preserve a moment so intimate and quiet, he wasn’t always sure it had actually happened. Only he knew that he was drawing Astrid without her shoulder armor, capturing her a moment after she’d finished combing and braiding her hair late one afternoon as she sat with him at the hot springs. That her shirt had fallen off one shoulder, and her skin was bare, the light sliding over it before he’d traced the contour with his fingertips. 

Hiccup lifted the top of his desk one more time, then slid the sketch underneath so it rested on top of the metal box hidden inside. He could probably keep it. For now. 

...

 

Hiccup could hear Snotlout and Tuffnut from the steps of his house as he made his way to the bonfire tower. He was relieved, but not entirely looking forward to Tuffnut’s continued discussion of his Book of Not Dragons. It might have been the same book, or perhaps not, but Tuffnut would want to talk about it about as much has Hiccup would want to not discuss it at all. 

Hiccup made his way down the steps and into one of the plazas, waving to villagers heading home, or walking to Meade Hall for a drink, or a song, or both. He wasn’t moving quickly, and didn’t need to get to the bonfire tower immediately, so he had time to think, and to savor no longer being anxious.  

Of all of them, Fishlegs had been first to hear The Talk. This was before everything, before the battle, before they’d come together at dragon killing school, before Hiccup had really befriended any of the others. Fishlegs had come to the forge on an errand for his mother, looking like the world had spun sideways beneath him, muttering and pale, so distracted he’d nearly taken his arm off when he backed into a sword Gobber had leaned against the wall. 

It wasn’t until a year or so later, late one evening after another dragon training session with Gobber that had nearly gotten them all killed, that Snotlout brought up the subject, probably to brag or embarrass someone, or both. He’d had gotten The Talk from his father around the same time as Fishlegs, but from the way Snotlout boasted of it, it seemed that the contents were widely different between the Jorgensen and Ingermann households. Fishlegs had argued with Snotlcut, and seemed to know a lot about women, probably because his mother had told him what she thought he needed to know. Snotlout, however, had boasted about… things that still didn’t make sense. Hiccup figured that Snotlout had listened to his father about as well as he listened to anyone else. Either that or there was a good reason, or several good reasons, why Spitelout was still single. 

The twins, Hiccup had no idea, but he was better off not asking. 

Ever. 

Every teen in Berk knew The Talk was coming, one way or another. It was one of the only times Hiccup had looked forward to a conversation with his father. 

Hiccup smiled to himself as he made his way past the forge through the village. It had been one of the most awful, awkward moments of his life, and he had no shortage of similar moments to compare it to. He and his father had not yet learned how to talk to each other, not that they were consistently good at it now, and Hiccup had had no idea how to approach him. He didn’t go out of his way to talk to his dad back then.  

For most of a month, maybe more, Hiccup had waited for his father to sit down across from him with one of his deep voiced, “Son. We need to talk,” invitations, probably in front of the fire. 

But it never happened. Hiccup waited across from his father’s chair, adding wood to the fire pit, sketching and plotting weaponry for the next dragon attack. He’d designed various kinds of bolas, then crossbows, and, during one long night, the device that had eventually taken down Toothless. Night after night, he sat, filled with equal portions of anticipation and dread at the possibility of his father’s footsteps at their door. 

When it finally did happen, Stoick chose a perfectly terrible moment. There’d been a dragon attack, and an entire group of houses had burned to the ground. Hiccup had inadvertently made the fire worse, though it had been a complete accident since he’d been trying to trap a dragon, not cause it to belch a wave of liquid fire onto the remaining houses that weren’t burning. 

Stoick was furious and frustrated, Hiccup was embarrassed and angry, so why Stoick thought that was the right time, Hiccup would never know. But Stoick had stood across from him, covered with soot and ash, flexing his arms and trying to tell Hiccup how sex happened.  

The thing was, Hiccup had already learned the basics from overhearing other people. Vikings weren’t modest — at least, many of those in Berk weren’t, but when it came to actual information, half of what he overheard seemed impossible. And kind of stupid. 

So he’d done a lot of thinking while he’d waited, and he had a lot of questions, but when the time came, he never got to ask them. Hiccup didn’t know why Stoick couldn’t talk with him, but he knew that everything his father said made him more confused, not less. Stoick had started more sentences than he’d finished. He’d picked up axes, gestured with them, then put them down. It was all war metaphors, campaigns and strategy and something about Nadder quills and…. 

Hiccup shook his head, thinking of it now with more amusement than confusion. His father could rip the head off a Gronkle, and battle an angry Monstrous Nightmare with his bare hands. Those weren’t skills he used anymore, thank the Gods, but Hiccup had never known his father to back away from anything, to choose silence and avoidance rather than a full-speed-ahead charge. 

But that’s what Stoick had done, and Hiccup, out of mercy for his father and himself, had allowed it. 

“It’s ok, Dad. I get it.”

“Ye do?” A look of such relief had crossed over Stoick’s face. “Ye do. Aye. Good talk, then.” 

Hiccup had shaken his head in reply, but Stoick had been heading for the door and hadn't seen. 

Hiccup had gone to bed that night utterly baffled by what his father had tried to tell him, and stayed up late, trying to match what he’d overheard with the random assemblies of words his father had spoken. Nothing fit, or made sense. 

Hiccup understood now, more than he had then, that his father was better at plans of attack than at using words. Stoick fought his way through problems, instead of talking his way around them. It was one of the very basic ways in which they were different. At first, he’d been angry at his father for not being able to explain, for not making sense the one time Hiccup had wanted to hear everything he had to say. It wasn’t like he _needed_ the information. No one in the village took him seriously, let alone showed interest in him. But he still wanted to know, and had felt frustrated and left out that there was knowledge he was supposed to have, but didn’t. 

Then, late one night that same week, Hiccup woke in the darkness to the sound of Gobber and Stoick talking by the fire below. This happened pretty regularly, since neither man had what could be called a quiet voice. Normally Hiccup would have gone back to sleep, but the growing anger in Gobber's voice had woken him further. 

Gobber was lecturing Stoick.

Hiccup had nearly fallen off the bed trying to lean closer to hear every word. Once he’d realized what was going on, there was no way he was going to miss that conversation. 

"He needs to..get on as himself, too, Stoick. Not just as chief."

“I know that, Gobber. Don’t remind me.” Stoick usually sounded grumpy, but that night, his voice had been soaked in despair, a dark, miserable tone that Hiccup had never heard from him before. “Valka would have smacked me for waiting this long, and for doing a poor job of it.”

Hiccup could not have been more shocked. Stoick rarely if ever mentioned his mother. 

Goober sounded surprised as well, and cleared his throat before speaking. “Even so, Stoick, just because you've been the chief and… _only_ the chief for this long doesn't mean Hiccup will do the same.”

Stoick hadn’t answered, and Hiccup hadn’t been fully sure what Gobber meant until, after a heavy silence, he spoke again.

“I know you don’t plan to marry again-”

“No, I don’t.” Stoick’s tone had been clipped, every letter pronounced, a sure sign he was about to lose his temper. 

 Gobber’s voice was equally sharp, and full of disdain. “But if you don’t fix this, if you don’t figure out a way to explain… he needs to know. And you’re failing him, Stoick.”

Hiccup had never heard Gobber speak to Stoick so bluntly, nor tell him he wasn’t being a good father. The legs of his father’s chair had screamed against the floor as Stoick stood up abruptly, prompting Gobber to shush him. 

The silence that filled the house had been equally dangerous. Only the intermittent cracking of the fire and the subtle creak of Stoick’s leather armbands reached Hiccup’s ears. Hiccup knew that noise. Stoick was flexing his arms against the confinement of the leather - something he did when he was furious enough to punch something, or someone. What Gobber had said made Stoick so angry, Hiccup was honestly afraid for him. 

The ominous quiet continued. Hiccup wondered if his dad had mastered silent methods of killing people. 

"That's not the life you want for him," Gobber continued, still alive, though the anger had gone out of his voice. Hiccup blew out a breath, as quietly as possible. “But if you try another big talk, you’ll scare him off entirely. Do ye… do ye want me to speak to him?”

“Ach, no, that seems….” 

“Bad idea, I agree. But Stoick, you have to-”

“Prepare him. I know, I know.” Stoick still sounded angry, but his anger was less volatile. Where his words had been swift and knife-sharp before, now they were almost puddles of misery. 

After that, Hiccup heard Stoick and Gobber cross the room and leave the house, their voices fading as they walked together down the hillside. 

The following morning at the forge, Gobber had been extra talkative, which for Gobber was saying a _lot_. He’d demonstrated a lot of the forge tools that day, especially anything spiked or pointed. He’d been waving things around, things Hiccup already knew how to use when working with metal, and…. 

Hiccup shuddered as he neared the stairs leading up to the bonfire platform. He didn’t like to think about that afternoon. It was like a bad dream he did not want to remember. 

“Hiccup!”

He turned. Astrid was running down the path toward him, a smile growing across her face. 

His heart stopped for a moment. Her hood and shoulder armor were gone. She was wearing a blue shirt with arm gauntlets, but her shirt had no sleeves. Her hair was in a loose braid falling over her shoulder, and for a moment, she looked as she had that afternoon at the springs, as he'd sketched her months later. 

The sun wouldn’t go down completely for a few weeks, and evening still looked like mid-day, but the light was gold and silver in her hair, and he stopped to wait, watching her run toward him with joy. 

 

 

 


	5. Slowly Heating

Astrid greeted Hiccup with a laughing kiss, one that she intended to be short, but once her lips met his, and she caught the elusive scent of the forge woodsmoke, the sun, the sky, and everything else, her body recognize his and she didn’t want it to end. 

He’d caught her in his arms as she’d run toward him, and her hands pressed against his chest. When her fingertips moved over his shoulders and felt wool and not leather, she pulled back suddenly. 

“Where’s your flight armor?”

Hiccup blinked at her for a moment. She grinned, feeling pleased with herself. It wasn’t often she could make Hiccup forget how to talk. A lot of the time, kissing him was a pause in their conversation, a moment between words. Sometimes it was punctuation, or a farewell. But sometimes, not as often, Hiccup would look dazed, as if he had to remember what he was saying, or what words were. She savored those times, wanted more of them, and thought about them more frequently than she liked to admit. 

Sometimes, she felt unmoored, too.

“Uh, in the- I… at home.” Hiccup rubbed his hand across his forehead, then pushed back his hair. “It’s too warm to wear armor.”

She took his hand and went up the stairs alongside him, allowing him to set their pace. “I had to take off a few layers before coming down, too. It’s so warm, and there’s hardly any breeze, even up here. It’s weird.”

“It is weird!” Tuffnut greeted them at the top, a spear in each hand, with a fish impaled on top. “I agree!” 

Astrid greeted the others, watching the fire throw light and shadow over everyone. Well, not everyone. She was watching Hiccup. 

He looked so different. And yet familiar. 

Hiccup had grabbed two sticks of wood, and was honing a point on each one with his knife. He’d picked out two fish, one for each of them, and was talking to Fishlegs while his knife flashed over the edge of the wood, sharpening it so it would hold their dinner. Astrid couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she looked over at them as if she were listening. 

Really, she was studying. Hiccup had taken to wearing his leather flight armor nearly all the time, and she rarely saw him without it. He did frequent patrols as part of his daily routine, and he flew to check on the fishing fleet if they stayed out later than expected. He never needed to be asked twice to fly somewhere, so he just wore it all the time. It looked great on him - she wasn’t complaining. She’d helped him design and fit the different pieces, too, modeling some of it on her own, though her shoulder armor was spiked metal and his was a more aerodynamic pair of leather cuffs. 

Seeing him in his flight leather was normal. Seeing him in a short sleeved green wool shirt and dark brown leggings, he looked…. 

She frowned slightly, watching the muscles of his forearm flex and twist as he finished with his knife.  

He looked younger. 

He looked like he had when they were first learning to fly, and he wore a vest and shirt all the time, before he’d made himself better clothing for soaring high and fast in the cold air. After his clothing had frozen enough times, he’d started building his flight armor piece by piece, altering it as he grew. 

He was taller now, taller than she was and had been for awhile, but he wasn’t as thin as he had been years before, as…breakable as he’d looked when he was younger. When they’d started dragon training with Gobber, she’d figured he’d be killed after two sessions, maybe three. He was smart, but he was fragile. 

Now, a lot of things about Hiccup were different. She hadn’t realized how much he’d changed. He had lean curves of muscle on his forearms, and when he wiped his knife on the sleeve of his shirt, she saw how the fabric was stretched across his shoulders and his back, the way the strengthened curves of his back were visible beneath the thin wool. The shirt must be an old one, because the fabric was worn and resewn on the side that she could see. And his leggings were older, or so she thought. They were rather tight, too.

She didn’t usually see so… much of him, unless she was spying on him at the hot springs, which she hadn’t done in awhile. 

Astrid swallowed and looked away. 

She didn’t want anyone to guess what she was thinking about, so she turned to Ruffnut, who was sitting next to her, frowning into the fire. Ruffnut looked miserable.

“What’s wrong?”

“Brothers. You know?”

Astrid didn’t know, but she nodded. Astrid only spent a few hours a day with Tuffnut and barely managed not to kill him. 

“What happened now?” 

“He’s taken my book.”

Tuffnut overheard and faced his sister. “It’s my book and you know it, missy. Don’t pretend it’s yours. It’s not your Not Dragons, it’s my Not Dragons.”

There were sounds of groaning and exasperation from everyone aside from the twins, including Hiccup as he took a seat on Astrid’s other side. He handed her a spear, and she moved her fish over the fire, allowing Hiccup to patiently adjust her grip, making sure her food wasn’t too close to the heat. Essentially he cooked both their dinners when they were at a bonfire together, but always under the guise of helping her with her own. He said it was easier than trying to find a single fish large enough for them both, since she’d steal food off his plate if it looked better than her meal, which it always did. 

She had no idea who had taught Hiccup to cook. Stoick never cooked anything as far as she knew, but Hiccup knew how to use seasonings, if they had any, and like Fishlegs he could make sure a piece of chicken or fish would cook through so that every part, even the skin, was delicious. She’d been sitting next to Hiccup at bonfires for ages now, and she hadn’t figured out how he did it. Of course, she’d lived with her Aunt Sigrid her entire life and still couldn’t manage a single family recipe. 

Hiccup leaned closer and moved her spear through her fingertips, extending it over the white hot part of the blaze, which Tuffnut was attending to, as usual. Tuffnut was significantly overqualified at setting things on fire and keeping them that way. 

Snotlout rolled his eyes. “Could you please not talk about Not Dragons?” 

Astrid was watching Hiccup’s hands over her own, feeling the subtle rasp of the callouses on his fingers, looking at a reddish burn on his wrist from weeks ago that was still healing. He moved slowly, carefully, looking at the fish she was cooking as well as his own. Even though he was only trying to make sure her meal didn’t burn, the feeling of his hands on hers made it feel like hot sparks from the bonfire were flying up her arms and filling her body. 

She shifted, and he looked at her, a questioning look on his face. She grinned at him, and there might have been something inside her smile that betrayed her thoughts, because his eyes dropped to her lips for a bare moment before he looked at her eyes again and smiled back.  

Tuffnut spun toward Snotlout. “No way, my fine fellow. I am a scholar of the Book of Not Dragons, and must share my knowledge.”

“Oh, Gods,” Hiccup said under his breath. 

Snotlout sneered at Tuffnut. “Nothing that you have said, at all, about anything from this Book of Not Dragons has made any sense. So stop already, or start making sense.” 

“It made sense to me,” Fishlegs said, looking unhappy about it. 

“Yeah, but you grew up in a house full of women, Fishlegs,” Snotlout said with disdain. 

“Hey,” Astrid said, her eyes narrowing. “What’s wrong with that?”

Snotlout had just enough self awareness to start backing up over his own words. “Nothing, nothing, nothing at all.” 

Astrid sat back, glaring at Snotlout, who refused to look at her - which was not surprising. No one wanted to tangle with Astrid, or her family. Her mother was ferocious in battle, as vicious and skilled as Astrid herself. Her Aunt Sigrid was one of the best cooks and herbalists in Berk, capable of curing someone of an illness or, if crossed, able to give the strongest men such abdominal distress he’d beg for immediate death. Astrid had seen it done to a man who had insulted Gothi, her great aunt, within Sigrid’s hearing. It had not been pretty. Not to mention both Gothi herself, and her late sister, Mornen, were intimidating and scary in their own right. Even Stoick, Hiccup had told her, warned him long ago not to anger Astrid’s family: “Like Valkyries, they are, and twice as deadly.”

Astrid didn’t mind thinking of herself as a valkyrie, though she’d rather not die in battle if she could avoid it. 

Hiccup’s hand covered hers again, turning the fish over so the skin on the other side would crisp and begin to crack. She allowed her gaze to move from his fingers to his arm, studying the freckles and subtle curves of his muscles, before she was distracted by Ruffnut sitting up straight beside her.

“Tuffnut, would you shut up already?” 

“No, sister mine. I will not. The Book of Not Dragons is my destiny! My other, other destiny!” 

“Ok, Tuff,” Hiccup said, a wry, curling edge in his voice that usually meant he was up to something. “Tell us, scholar of the Book of Not Dragons. What have you learned?”

Instantly, Tuff looked shrewd and suspicious, and he looked from Ruffnut to Astrid and back to Ruffnut, who was looking at him with an evil smile on her face. 

“Yeah, great scholar,” she said, leaning back and slowly pulling her dinner off the end of her cooking spear. “Tell us all about it.”

 Tuffnut brandished his spears, each still equipped with fish on one end, and stood back from the fire, arms out. “You dare challenge me to reveal the secrets of the Not Dragons?”

“Pretty much,” Hiccup replied.

“You are not a scholar of Not Dragons!” 

“Give it up, Tuffnut,” Ruffnut said around a mouthful of chicken. “You don’t actually know anything.”

“Ha, dear sister. You know nothing of my experiments! My passion for science!”

“Yeah, I do. You talk in your sleep.”

“And that’s where we can change the subject,” Astrid said, rolling her eyes. 

Snotlout wasn’t prepared to let it go. “You don’t actually know anything. Not anything useful, that is.” He stood up, wiping bits of food off his shirt and headed for the stairs, carrying his drink in his usual oversized, unnecessarily huge mug. “I’m leaving to go find some real action.”

“If only you knew how wrong you were,” Fishlegs said in a voice that, for Fishlegs, was surprisingly snide.

“Hey! What are you talking about, Fishface?” Snotlout spun around angrily, forgetting he had a full tankard in his hand, and threw mead all over Hiccup. 

“Ugh, Snotlout!” Hiccup handed his cooking spear to Astrid and tried to wipe off the tide that covered his shirt.

Snotlout barely glanced at him. “Oh, you’re fine. Mead makes everyone smell better.”

“Well, that explains a lot,” Astrid said, trying to help Hiccup while also trying not to lose their dinner in the fire.  

Fishlegs refused to elaborate, no matter how much Snotlout threatened him. Having lost most of his drink, Snotlout was easily persuaded to go find more, and to go find it somewhere else. Snotlout dismissed them all with a wave and made his way down the stairs, his steps heavy and uneven. 

“Ugh,” Hiccup said again, and pulled his shirt off, balling it up in one hand and blotting the sticky mead off his skin. Astrid tried as much as possible to keep her expression neutral, but she had a strong suspicion she failed on that attempt. There were freckles. And muscles, rippled with shadows in the firelight. And hair. On his stomach, moving down toward-- she had to look away. Even if the mead smell was a bit much, he looked delicious. 

“I’ll be right back,” he said, glancing up at her. “Going to get another shirt.” 

In that moment, Astrid had a good idea how Hiccup felt when she kissed him and he forgot how to use words. She couldn’t have spoken coherently if someone had held an axe to her head. She swallowed hard again and nodded. 

“Don’t hold the fish too close to the fire.”

Fire. Dinner, right. She looked at the fish, clenching her jaw and forcing herself to stop being distracted. It was silly to be so…. 

Then Hiccup stood, and Astrid caught a glimpse of the dimples at the small of his back. He shifted his weight, maybe adjusting the fit of his prosthetic before going down the stairs, and… she couldn’t look away. 

Odin’s beard. 

Astrid forced herself to look at the center of the fire pit, no matter how much it made her eyes ache. Astrid listened to Ruffnut teasing her brother, and hoped the heat of the bonfire and blanketing warmth of the night air were enough of a logical reason why her face was so red. 

 


	6. A Still and Heated Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Salut, mes amis! Please be warned this chapter is a bit NSFW. Merci!

That night, unlike most nights on Berk, the air didn’t cool. Everything was still. There was no wind, no mist off the water, no breeze filtering through the pines. It was almost like the air was tense, holding its breath, thick and silent and hot.

Hiccup had gone to bed late, but the room hadn’t cooled. Toothless had barely fired any blast at all towards his bed. But while Toothless was snoring a few minutes after he curled onto his side, it took Hiccup a lot longer to fall asleep. He’d been unable to stop thinking, to stop planning. 

He had made good time getting from the bonfire to his house and back after Snotlout had spilled mead all over him. But he’d forgotten until he ran up the stairs to his room and searched his clothing that didn’t have all that many short-sleeved shirts. In fact, he had exactly two. One that was still reeking of mead, and another that was a bit small. It was barely long enough, but was even tighter over his shoulders than the first. He had pulled at the stitches, trying to get them to slacken a little, but it hadn’t helped much. With a shrug, he’d descended the stairs and made his way back to the bonfire. It wasn’t like he was doing anything important. Just eating and hanging out with everyone. 

But the evening hadn’t been as casual as he’d expected.

When he got back to the bonfire, to his surprise, the fish weren’t burned. Astrid had moved them away from the fire enough that they were still warm, but not overcooked. He checked one with his knife, then the other, and moved them back over the heat in the center of the blaze. Tuffnut had been bragging, Ruff has been teasing him, and Fishlegs had taken the bait and was arguing with them both. But Hiccup had been distracted by Astrid, who seemed agitated. 

Usually she was relaxed, cool and confident in any situation because there weren’t many that she couldn’t handle. But as he’d sat next to her on the bench, when he’d handed her a wooden plank with her fish after he’d deboned it, and as she ate, she’d been twitching, her breathing uneven, her posture restless, as if she were like the bonfire, crackling and shifting.

Then, long after they’d finished eating, when he’d been watching the horizon as the sky faded from peach to a soft summer-lit blue, he’d felt her staring. At him. At his chest, specifically. Her gaze had been hot and volatile, almost burning. When her attention slowly moved down his chest to his stomach, where his shirt had ridden up as he’d leaned back on the bench, he’d been unable to move. He hadn’t known what to do with himself. 

When Fishlegs stood to leave, Astrid had put her hand on his knee and he’d startled. But he hadn’t stood up because the flat of her palm was pressing down on his leg, holding him in place. 

Hiccup had never been more thankful for a plank of wood covered with fish bones in his life, and he thanked every possible god for the one covering his lap at that moment. 

The twins never left a bonfire; Hiccup suspected they slept up on the bonfire platform more often than not. They showed no signs of intending to leave soon, especially since Ruffnut was daring Tuff to quote any part of the Book of Not Dragons without making a mistake. Hiccup didn’t exactly want to hear that, even if he was curious what book Tuffnut had in his possession. So when he was confident that he could breathe, stand up, walk down stairs and not embarrass himself doing so, he’d looked at Astrid to see if she was ready to go. 

She’d been staring at the fire, glaring at it. Her eyebrows were down, her shoulders hunched over, her lips pressed into a faint line. 

Was she angry? 

He’d nudged her with his arm, and nodded toward the stairs, afraid to interrupt her if she was plotting something, but she’d jumped up and said a fast good night to the twins before almost diving down the stairs. 

He’d been so confused. But he followed. Cautiously. 

As they usually did after a bonfire, they walked through Berk together, and eventually the hot, tense silence that had surrounded Astrid melted into the familiar warmth that had grown between them. They wandered and talked in meandering circles about nothing and everything, with no specific route or destination in mind. Just away, far enough that they’d be alone and apart from everyone. But Hiccup could never figure out how far away was enough. 

It was impossible for them to fully disappear. They’d talked about it once. The dragons were a signal, a very large and visible sign that their riders were nearby, especially Toothless. If they were to fly their dragons somewhere together, it was always and immediately obvious where they were. 

And even the dragons themselves were a problem sometimes. Stormfly especially. She would interfere if she didn’t like what Astrid was doing, and would chase Astrid if she felt they’d been away from Berk for too long, especially if “too long” coincided with “feeding time.” And lately, Stormfly had convinced Toothless to interfere, too, so flying their dragons anywhere with the goal of being alone together was like bringing two chaperones who could kill them. 

They couldn’t fly anywhere. They couldn’t hike too far, either, because their absence would be noticed. But if they hiked to a spot that was too close, it was more likely that they’d be noticed. Or discovered. Or someone would look for them. 

Every. Time. 

Hiccup closed his eyes and pressed his lips together, holding in a snarl of frustration in the semi-darkness of his room, not wanting to wake Toothless. 

They’d walked for longer than usual that night, heading east past the cliffs and into the pine forest. He hadn’t thought to notice where they were, or how long they’d been walking. 

Then Astrid had grabbed his arm, spun him around, and pressed him back against a tree, her lips meeting his a moment later. She’d decided, apparently, that they’d walked far enough, and her hands and mouth were a frenzied torment, her sudden focus making his head spin. 

Her hands had slid around his waist, above the top of his leggings, and Hiccup felt his breath stutter as he thought about it again, felt her touch, the cool strength of her hands moving over his skin, over his back, around his sides to his chest. He’d barely been able to keep watching or listening for someone, anyone. One of them had to be aware and watchful, and Astrid had been determined, almost aggressive in the demands she communicated with her mouth, her fingertips, the press of her body against his. 

Hiccup looked up at the strange midnight glow of midsummer though the window above his bed and shook his head. 

He had to think of something else if he wanted to get back to sleep. 

So he started mentally walking through Berk, plotting where they might go, where there might be a cave that hadn’t been discovered or used by anyone, where to look for privacy that would allow him to relax his guard and focus, to really pay attention to what he wanted most in the world. 

At some point while wandering through Berk in his imagination, Hiccup fell asleep. 

He knew that he had because he woke up in a rush. 

He was sweaty, his heart was racing, and he was confused… and hard. 

His entire body ached with frustration. Fragments of a dream swept over his mind like cobwebs, and he tried to catch his breath while images chased one another in his mind: Astrid’s hands, her mouth, his mouth, the weight of her breasts, the strength of her legs around his waist. He leaned up on one arm, caught in a mix of arousal and terror, unsure if he’d woken up because he’d dreamt of their being discovered, or if he’d woken up because he’d dreamt of what might happen if they weren’t. 

He looked over at Toothless, to see if the noise had disturbed him. Hiccup’s heart was beating so loud, he figured it must have woken him. 

But Toothless wasn’t there. His bed was empty. 

Hiccup glanced up at the window, but there was no sign of Toothless there either. He had probably leapt up to the roof and spread his wings to glide down to the water where it might be cooler. Their room was very warm, the usual winds from the sea still absent in the silent heat. He couldn’t blame Toothless for going to sleep somewhere else. 

He rolled over onto his side, trying to bring his heart and his breathing closer to normal so he could go back to sleep.

It felt as if his skin were on fire from within, every bit of him taut and sensitive. Sleep seemed impossibly far away.

When he was able to, he held his breath and listened, and heard no sounds from the chambers below. His father must still have been out, or in the great hall or by the docks, maybe. If he’d continued storytelling and drinking with the other vikings, they probably had fallen asleep in Meade Hall, or on the grass. 

So the silence meant he was the only one home. 

He checked again, listening to the sound of the ocean hitting the rocks, the hum of summer insects, the low call of solitary birds across the water. There was no noise or indication that Stoick was in the house, and his snores were usually loud enough to be heard two houses away, especially after a night of singing and many tankards of mead. And if Stoick was awake, it was even more impossible for him to be quiet.

Hiccup was definitely alone. 

Suddenly, as if that realization had unlocked all the tempting wisps of memory he’d tried to avoid, his mind filled with a mix of images from the evening before, and other impressions, perhaps pieces of the dream he’d been having. 

Astrid had kept him against the tree, trapping him between the rough bark and her curious, eager hands. She’d been a relentless tide of hot demands, her explorations of his skin, the hair on his stomach, the contours of his chest making him dizzy as she kissed him. 

Fighting to keep himself partially aware of their surroundings, he had moved his hands from where they’d landed when she’d pushed him against the tree, and began to explore. Her hair was familiar, and he pushed her bangs aside to move his fingertips over her cheek and jaw, then lifted her braid, enjoying the quiet thrill he felt every time he touched her hair. She had so much it reached past her waist when it was unbound, but it was almost always confined and coiled when he saw her. Just touching her hair was unspeakably intimate, and though he’d done it before, it still made his heart feel like it was flying inside his chest. 

But feeling Astrid press her body against his, her hips moving against him as they kissed, he'd wanted to discover something new, to reach and learn a piece of her he didn’t already know. 

Her mouth moved away from his for an instant, and he caught the flash of her blue eyes before she leaned in to kiss him again. His right hand was still beneath her braid, against the warmth of her neck, but his left hand moved to explore. His palm followed the taut curve of her side, her strength like steel beneath the softness of her skin, which he realized he hadn’t touched. Slowly, he pulled her shirt loose from under her leggings, his fingertips finding then exploring the warmth of her beneath the fabric. 

The way her breath caught, the flex of her fingers against his skin told him to keep going, but he noticed the way her posture changed slightly and catalogued that movement for study later. He pressed his hand more firmly against her skin as he moved over her side, using more of his strength to meet her own, and was rewarded with a low gasp, and what sounded a lot like a growl. 

He’d twisted the fabric of her shirt in his hand, pulling it up as he pulled her closer, when he heard someone moving through the brush nearby. His blood had stopped and frozen in place, like he’d been dropped into the northern seas. Hiccup had grabbed her hands and slid apart from her, and she’d glared at him, about to say something when she heard the snap of a twig. She’d followed him around the copse of trees, and away from whomever it was - and Hiccup strongly suspected it was Snotlout, judging from the unsteady way the person had walked and the snorting breaths and mumbling he’d heard. 

They’d taken the long way back to Berk before saying a quick, but scorching goodnight. Astrid had barely spoken to him, and he’d wondered if she was angry at him, too, but he hadn’t had a chance to ask. She’d run off toward her house, and he’d wandered up the hill towards his home, his thoughts a muddle of questions and ideas. Before he’d heard someone, before he’d remembered that he had to listen, to remain half aware of their surroundings….

Hiccup rolled over onto his back in the silence of his room, his right arm over his eyes, and allowed himself to reach beneath the band of his leggings. He clenched his teeth and tried to breathe normally, but his imagination threw his body into a blissful, jagged torment.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her hands, moving over his chest, feeling his skin in deliberate, burning sections, her fingers running over his biceps, following each muscle as she pushed his shirt higher. Her touch had turned his mind into a hot wave of scent and touch. 

And he had discovered, and rediscovered, the scent of her hair, the softness of her skin. The core of steel and strength within her warmed and bent toward him, turning her almost liquid beneath his hands. He kissed her and it was wanting and desire and clarity, pressing him forward, pulling her closer to fit against the length of his body, so more of him could learn more of her. 

Hiccup gasped quietly in the dark room, his concentration focusing on what he had done, what her reaction had been, what movement had made her gasp, or writhe, or move closer to him. He wanted to know how her body worked, what its secrets were, because it seemed like she already knew all of his. One sweep of her hand across his back, or over his chest, and he struggled to think in rational order. He had to know if he made her feel the same way, if he affected her the way she affected him, and if he didn’t, how he could learn the way toward madness for them both. 

He thought over her reactions, her movements, the sounds and whispers he’d heard, the moments he could remember before the hot rush of pleasure overwhelmed him, trying to figure out the puzzle while enjoying the overwhelming sensation that accompanied the knowledge that she was so close to him. He didn’t have to reach far to touch her, and every inch of her that he discovered yielded more questions, more demands. 

He felt his muscles tense and relax, then tense again, knowing he was close, trying to draw out the last few pieces of memory and hazy dream. He mouthed he sound of her name, and suddenly wondered if perhaps she were awake, too. 

If she was unable to sleep, alone and burning in the darkness, like he was. 

If her hands were moving below her blanket, her eyes closed, her head back. 

The idea that she was with him again now arched his back, and he fell over the edge into orgasm, relentless searing pleasure crashing over him. His heartbeat held a thunderous echo until his breathing finally slowed from ragged gasps to soft and even peace.  

 

 


	7. Storms Remembered

Astrid was, in fact, awake, alone in the close and torturous darkness of her room, thinking about Hiccup. 

It was one thing to be told about sex, she thought as she glared at the beams that held up the roof above her head. It was another thing entirely to experience desire. Desire was like a Monstrous Nightmare living under the skin, slowly setting itself on fire within every part of her body. It was exhausting, and frustrating, and constantly bothersome. 

She didn’t like the distraction, the lack of control, the way she couldn’t keep her thoughts in line. It was uncomfortable sometimes. And dangerous. And so… _frustrating_. 

Because she wanted more. 

Being told about kissing or arousal or about the mechanics of sex, first by her mother, and then later by her aunt, who supplemented her knowledge one night after her mother left the house, none of that came close to the actual experience of it. 

Her mother had given her a very thorough explanation, too. She’d hidden nothing from Astrid, explaining the physical consequences, the possibilities, the remedies, and then, when Astrid was pretty sure she’d heard everything, her mother had explained the pleasures, too. 

Sigrid had not been home that night so many years ago, but when she learned that Astrid had received The Talk, she was determined to make sure her sister hadn’t left anything out. She’d added still more information and slightly confusing ideas to Astrid’s growing store of unwanted knowledge. 

For so long after she’d received The Talk, she’d refused to think about anything she’d learned. That she’d want to be with someone… like _that_ , that she’d experience any of the things they’d told her about? Ridiculous. 

She believed that what they said was true; it wasn’t like she didn’t know that people snuck off on long dark nights, or took the long route home from the hot springs.

But she had no interest. None. Even the idea of kissing anyone was revolting. 

Some, like Snotlout, had tried to, and she’d made sure it never happened again. The idea of it - _ugh_. 

There was no one on Berk she had wanted to kiss. 

Well, she thought to herself, propping her head on her arms to look out her window, that wasn’t entirely true. 

She hadn’t _considered_ kissing anyone. Not even Hiccup. He was the only viking who she had been curious about. But Hiccup had never gone near her. Unlike Snotlout, who probably still had a scar where she'd kicked him off a cliff edge, and another where she hit him with her axe. Hiccup may have looked at her, but he would never approach her the way the others did.  

She liked that about him, if she was telling the truth - and it was dark and stifling hot in her room so she couldn’t bother lying to herself for entertainment purposes. She liked that he noticed her, but refused to treat her any differently. He never acted as if she were something to be won and hung up on the wall, or an object to covet and brag about. 

Astrid scowled into the darkness, frustration brimming within her thoughts, and her veins. It had probably been Snotlout in the woods earlier, interrupting them. She hoped Snotlout’s scar still ached. 

She caught sight of a dragon flying across the sky outside her window, just a flash of a tail, maybe a Nadder or a Nightmare. It made her smile, the simmering inside her slowly dissolving into something other than twisted irritation.

After flying on a dragon, and many other slow changes, she’d realized that kissing didn't seem so disgusting. She’d even kissed Hiccup full on the mouth in front of his father, and half of the village besides. 

Kissing, she’d learned, wasn’t so bad. 

In fact, it was easy. It was a language she understood, and learned to speak, like battle tactics or attack formations.  

It certainly wasn’t a waste of time, either. She’d learned that, too.  Now she understood what her aunt had been talking about, what her mother had explained so thoroughly. 

Kissing … kissing Hiccup was wonderful. His mouth, that spot on his shoulder, the curve of his neck, behind his ear. 

There were different kinds, different ways, different… reactions. Variations in sound, and in the strength and frequency of responses. She wanted to experience all of them. 

And she'd learned that there were kisses that transformed from one moment to the next, created by the changing heat between them, so different from one another she'd thought about writing them down, except having her notes discovered by anyone would have caused her to die of embarrassment. 

There were kisses with force, like a surprise attack, though she didn't intend to hurt him. There were kisses that cut through tension like an axe through a fallen tree, that divided a moment into a quiet before, and an incendiary after. Then she learned how to sneak up on him, to move slowly, to kiss him gently and knock him sideways with one quiet breath. 

Kissing was a conversation in and of itself, but also, now, it was the first part of a larger possibility, one she wanted to explore. 

Now everything she had once thought revolting was what she wanted most. 

And so kissing wasn't enough anymore. 

After seeing him in the light of the bonfire, when his shirt had been covering so little it had seemed like nothing at all, she’d been unable to think of anything else. There were muscles and shadows on his skin, and she wanted to find them for herself, learn their texture and how he reacted when she touched them. 

Astrid rolled onto her side with a sharp exhale, frowning. Why had tonight been different?

She knew she was attracted to Hiccup, and she knew for certain he was attracted to her. How could a shirt, a warm night, and a bonfire make her so uncomfortable? That extra heat and powerful curiosity had left her restless and aching, and, even now, hours later, wide awake. 

As much as she didn’t like not being in control, desire was like anticipation of a battle, a sparring match against a worthy, even dangerous opponent. Between them, desire shifted, familiar in one second, and entirely unknown in another. And either way, she liked it. She wanted more of the fire that flared beneath her skin when she noticed something new about him, something she wanted to explore, and touch, and taste. 

He didn't seem to mind any approach, but she noticed the difference in his response. He responded in kind, meeting her with the same degree of force she used. 

She studied him, like he studied dragons. 

Did he study her? He seemed to. 

When he paid attention to her, it was intoxicating.

So why did he hesitate around her? Why did he pull away?

Why was it that whenever they found time alone, which was not often, he was guarded, cautious and tense, holding a portion of himself, of his attention, away from her? 

She wanted more. 

Didn't he?

She rolled over and gave up on sleeping any time soon. She wanted more of everything, and was worried and anxious. 

Because what if he didn't?

She thought about the tree, the way she’d pushed him against it and had thought briefly of tying him up against the trunk so he couldn’t get away. But she’d want him to have use of his hands. His hands were as calculating and deliberate as he was, but determined - forceful, even - when he’d memorized a route he wanted to take. 

She didn’t want total control, really. She didn’t want to immobilize him. 

She wanted his complete focus to be on her, on where they were, and not half listening and paying attention to something else. 

Astrid tried to think of the last time they’d been alone, and she’d been lit on fire by the intensity of his attention. It had been awhile. That was one reason she was so angry that they’d been interrupted. It wasn’t often they had a significant amount of time alone, and was rarer still that Hiccup could focus on her, and only her, for more than a moment or two. 

The last time she could think of was at least a month prior, maybe more. She’d gone looking for him in the forge on a stormy afternoon. The rain had fallen in intermittent sheets, drenching everyone and everything, then pausing as if for breath before releasing a deluge again. Everyone had found a reason to be inside, but Astrid had soon grown tired of the walls of her room, then the walls of her house. She’d chipped her knife and wanted to repair it, so she ran to the forge when the storm had paused its uneven roar. 

The repair wasn’t urgent, but she’d wanted to see Hiccup. That had been …somewhat urgent. More fun that sitting and waiting for the lightning to stop so she could do the rest of her chores and take Stormfly out to patrol.

He’d been in his workshop, the lightning from the storm the only illumination in the room as the skies grew more and more dark. More rain, wrapped within thunder and furious winds, was imminent, a dark wall she could see blowing in from the ocean, and it had felt like a piece of the storm was inside her body, too, as she ran towards the door. 

Astrid slowly arched her back against her bed and stretched as she tried to remember why exactly she’d gone looking for Hiccup that afternoon, knowing her knife had been an excuse. Had he said something? Done something? 

Worn a shirt the wrong way, she thought with a tiny laugh, in a size too small? She couldn’t recall.

But she remembered finding him, deep in thought in his workroom, bent forward over the table, sketching something close up, his charcoal flying over the page. The skies had opened and a torrent of rain had nearly drowned out the thunder as water pelted the roof, breaking through the seams to land with a hiss on the forge fire. 

The sound had broken his attention on his work, and he’d stood up. But when he saw her in the doorway, just as he’d been about to greet her, lightning had hit the ground close by, sending a blast of sound and light through the forge, followed by an acrid, burning smell that reminded her of dragon fire. 

His reaction time in any situation was nearly as good as hers, and that moment was no exception. He’d pulled her into the room, away from the window, and pushed into the far interior corner of his workshop. 

He’d grabbed a wooden bench, and placed it in front of him, pulling off his prosthetic and tossing it across the room. Then he’d unlaced her shoulder armor and pulled it off, his determined, forceful movements gentle only when he lifted her braid, which was heavy and wet, to make sure he didn’t pull her hair. 

Her armor had joined his prosthetic, and he’d leaned his leg on the bench as he looked at her, then ran his hands over her body.

“Your skirt. Metal there, too,” he’d muttered, his eyebrows down, his expression familiar in its focus and intensity, but entirely new to her. She’d seen his face like that when he was training a new dragon, when he was puzzled and entirely consumed by figuring out a particularly challenging problem. Now that intensity was hers, utterly hers. 

He'd removed her overskirt, untying the laces behind her within moments, then placed it on the ground behind them. He’d begun checking her body for metal, his hands brisk and his attention so concentrated on her, she was barely able to stand upright. 

“Hiccup…”

He’d glanced up at her eyes. “That was too close. The lightning.” Then his hands had found her knives, in the holsters crossed at her back, and he’d leaned toward her to remove them. 

Their gazes had caught in a taut connection, and her breath kept the barest rhythm as he leaned closer. He removed the knives carefully, setting them on the table beside him. 

Another bolt of lightning hit the ground outside, and he pressed her back against the wooden wall behind her, his body covering hers, his eyes closed, desire and fear mixed in his expression. 

When the thunder followed a scant second later, the rain intensifying though she had no idea how that was possible, he’d lifted his head, his mouth a breath away from hers. 

“Are you carrying any other metal I should know about?” 

She’d moistened her lips, and his attention focused on the tip of her tongue before returning to her eyes. “No.” She’d slid her palms across his stomach, fingers wide, seeking more contact, grabbing his shirt and pulling him closer. 

He’d shifted his weight slightly. Without the spiked metal of her skirt, she could feel so much more of him, especially since he was pressing her against the wall, protecting her body with his own, which perhaps should have bothered her but didn’t. Because she could feel how hot, how tense and close and…firm he was. 

“Isn’t there metal in your hair?” 

Astrid smiled at the memory in the darkness of her room, her eyes closed, pleasure like sparks filling her body. He’d looked so angry when she’d shaken her head in confusion, and then he’d pushed her bangs aside. 

“My kransen,” she’d replied, realizing what he’d meant. It had metal studs embedded within it, but they were very small. It was supposed to be symbolic, she’d thought to herself. It held her hair down more than it served any other purpose. But Hiccup had refused to touch it, or remove it from her hair. And suddenly she’d wanted to toss it across the room, to feel his hands in her hair, pushing it away and loosening her braid, his fingertips moving over her skin to unwind every part of her, more than she’d wanted anything.

They’d stood, staring at each other for a moment, Hiccup leaning slightly on the bench beside him, Astrid tucked into the corner of the room, his body a fraction of space away from hers, the only boundary confining her that she could have easily moved. 

Another crash of thunder had filled the space around them, and then another. Lighting flashed across the sky, but none hit the ground with the same frightening pressure and scent. 

Astrid had held on to Hiccup’s shirt, pulling him closer, as he pushed her wet hair away from her face. She could see that he was half-focused on the storm, measuring the space between the flashes, listening to the roar of water on the roof above their heads. 

Most of the time, Hiccup thought about several things at once, his focus so powerful but so often divided. That moment when he’d been intent on her safety, on removing anything he considered a danger in the storm, she wanted to revel in it, fill the hot springs with his intensity and dive in it for hours. She wanted that scorching moment of his full attention again, wanted to stretch it out so that he forgot everything else. 

She’d had it again for a handful of minutes when she’d pushed him against a tree. Or she thought she had - until whoever it was, and she was betting Snotlout, messed things up.

How could she recreate that focus? Why was it so difficult for him to relax? Whether it was the forge during a storm or against a tree after a bonfire, he never let himself go. 

If she could keep all distractions away, if she could find a place where they wouldn’t be found, but not so far away that they wouldn’t be missed…. 

The idea, the possibilities of what might happen, what she might be able to do filled her mind, and she stayed awake plotting and scheming. Her ideas eventually followed her into sleep, and she dreamed of paths, of trees and rainstorms, and of his touch, like lightning against her skin. 


	8. Warm Air and Cold Water

The next day, which was hardly distinguishable from the previous day since the sun never left the sky, Astrid was high above the sea, flying in a slow circular pattern above the docks. The heat hadn’t abated. If anything it was worse, with a sticky density in the air that clung to her skin. 

She hadn’t slept well, or enough, and she knew she was cranky. Stormfly kept jostling her, trying to cheer her up, but Astrid’s furious mood was as stuck to her as the humidity. She’d had irritating dreams, scorching images mixed with frustration, and her room had been as overheated as she was when she woke up. 

Her day had only gotten worse once she got out of bed. Sigrid was in a mood, and got angry at Astrid when she burned part of breakfast because she’d been scowling at the wall instead of watching the pot by the fire. Her mother was irritable because all their chores were impossible to do in the heat, and the animals weren’t cooperating either. All of them wanted to hide in the shade and sleep, and refused to consider any other options. 

Astrid had escaped shortly after breakfast, and had flown with Stormfly on a fast morning patrol just to avoid everyone. She’d overdressed, so after less than an hour she’d tossed her shoulder armor and skirt down into a tree near her home so she could retrieve them later. But it hadn’t been enough. As she’d flown over Berk, carrying messages and helping the fleet of fishermen who sailed in with their haul, it had grown so hot that she’d removed one layer after another. It was mid-afternoon, and she was still too warm. At this point, she’d either have to strip down and fly in the nude, or dive into the ocean below. The air was so thick and still that flying through it did nothing. 

Fortunately for everyone in Berk, Stoick declared it too hot for anyone to do any work, and had sent the village down to the docks to swim. This was a rare event, in part because it was usually too cold for swimming in the ocean waters. Falling into the sea was a lethal emergency. The vikings in Berk had the coves, and the hot springs, but rarely went in the ocean. 

That afternoon, with so many in days a row of unusual warmth and nonstop sun, the water wasn’t as cold, and the air was so hot, the chill was more than welcome. Once the village got into the idea of swimming, families brought food and drinks down on long tables, and viking ingenuity transformed the fishing ships into giant rope swings. People were taking turns climbing the mast, grabbing a rope, and swinging out over the water, challenging each other to make the biggest splash. For most of them, Astrid thought as she watched them leap into the water one by one, a large splash was not a problem. 

She flew in slow circles overhead, watching for anyone who was having trouble swimming, or was too cold to safely make their way back to the docks. Stoick stood on a higher platform, doing the same thing. But as more people leaped into the water with yells of excitement followed by immediate yells of horror or relief,Astrid realized she needed another person or two up in the air with her. 

She was about to fly over to the Academy when she saw movement on the cliffs above Meade Hall. Tuffnut and Hiccup emerged from the woods, both shirtless and carrying wooden staves, so sweaty that she could see the sunlight gleaming off both of them from her position high in the air. 

It made her furious. 

Well, Tuffnut she didn’t really care about either way. 

But it just wasn’t fair. Hiccup was sweaty, his skin glistening, moisture covering his chest. His face was red, and his smile was wide and relaxed. It was the hottest thing Astrid had ever seen.  

She watched as they made their way down to the plaza in front of Meade Hall, and could tell from their movements and posture that they were surprised no one was around. Hiccup in particular looked alarmed. 

She flew over to them, and tried to tell herself to unclench her jaw, but it wasn’t working. 

“Stoick told everyone to go down to the docks and jump in the ocean,” she yelled down to them. 

Hiccup gaped at her. “He did _what_?” 

“Excellent!” Tuffnut tapped Hiccup on the shoulder. “Let’s go! We can jump in.”

“Actually, I need some help,” Astrid said, glaring at Tuffnut. He didn’t notice.

“What’s up? Other than you, I mean,” Tuffnut answered, shading his eyes from the sun. 

“I’m flying over the swimmers, but there’s a lot of people in the water, and it’d be safer if we had more lookouts.”

“No problem!” Tuffnut called up to her before Hiccup could reply. “Barf and Belch make great lookouts. They have four eyes. Or two sets of eyes. Well, one of their eyes is usually looking at the other one - the other dragon, not the other eye, but still-“

“Whatever, just fly up when you can?”

Astrid growled as she flew away, furious with herself for being furious with Hiccup for no reason. 

Well, she had a reason; it just wasn’t a good reason. 

He was shirtless, and his skin was covered in sweat and swipes of dirt and grime from sparring with Tuffnut. There were muscles, and freckles, and all of him…she was _furious_ with him for looking like that. 

Astrid narrowed her eyes. 

No, it wasn’t that she was mad at him. She was angry because she wanted that. She wanted _him_ like that - because of her. She wanted to cause Hiccup to look like he did at that moment, only somewhere she could actually accomplish the ideas that were filling her mind with images she had to tuck away for later. 

She flew back over the water, noting the position of the different swimmers, and waited for the others to arrive. Surely they’d put shirts on.

How could he just… walk around like that? 

She put her hands in her hair and groaned, prompting Stormfly to turn her head and squawk, shaking her quills.

“I’m sorry, girl. You’re right. I need to cool off. When they get up here, I’m going in, ok?”

Stormfly answered with another squawk, and spread her wings wide to catch the minute currents of air that moved around them. There was still no breeze to break up the heat. 

A few moments later, she saw Barf and Belch take off from the Academy with Toothless right behind them. Within a minute they were flying alongside her, looping in low circles over the docks. Ruff had joined them, and was tugging off her vest in the heat, but Tuff hadn’t bothered to put on a shirt. Hiccup had though, and it was weird looking on him. He must have found an old shirt in the academy, one that didn’t belong to him, since Astrid hadn’t seen it before. It didn’t fit him well, either, and he looked uncomfortable, tugging at the hem or the sleeves to try to adjust the fabric. 

Tuffnut stood up on his saddle after pulling off his boots and helmet and hanging them off to the side. “I am going in. Everyone, stand by for amazement.”

Ruff jumped up beside him on her saddle, her boots, helmet and most of her clothing hanging off Barf’s tail. “Way ahead of you, bro!” With a berserker yell, she leaped off the saddle, tucking her legs into her chest and plummeting into the water below. 

“Ha! Trying to steal my glory? Not today, sister!” With another yell, Tuff dove after her, spinning in midair then tucking into a ball. Both of them made enormous splashes in the surf, which was impressive given that they weren’t that large to begin with. 

A minute later Astrid heard Tuffnut howling. “Oh, that is cold! That is very much cold!”

Then his sister splashed him. Tuffnut screamed, a high-pitched shriek of terror, as Ruff pushed her palm through the top of the waves and covered him with water repeatedly.  

Hiccup laughed. He and Toothless had leveled off to her right, beside her and Stormfly, the tips of their dragons’ wings almost touching.

Astrid gestured toward the water. “Not jumping in?”

Hiccup nodded at his leg, connected to his saddle. “You’ve never heard the famous viking song, ‘Never Swim with a Metal Leg?’ I wasn’t that great at swimming before. Now I’m definitely not.”

“Oh, come on. You’re just jumping.”

Hiccup shook his head. “No, no, thanks. You can go on ahead, though. I’ll take over up here.”

Astrid leaned forward. “Toothless, I think Hiccup needs to cool off.” 

Stormfly squawked at her, but Toothless grinned a wide, dragon smile, his tongue hanging out, and then, without warning, folded his wings to dive straight toward the water below. She heard Hiccup yelling just as they pierced the surface and then again came up a few minutes later. 

But Toothless wasn’t finished. He dove under the surface, soaking them both, then flew over the waves in a tight spiral, spinning himself and dunking Hiccup over and over before climbing back up in to the air with a few wide sweeps of his wings. 

Astrid laughed so hard she had tears running down her face. She could hear Stoick’s laughter echoing over the cliff wall, and most of Berk was enjoying the show, too, given how many people were pointing and holding their sides. 

Once again, Toothless flew alongside Stormfly, only now, Hiccup was laughing and soaking wet. 

“Thanks, Bud.” 

It took Astrid a few minutes to pull herself together enough to talk. His hair was sticking out in every direction, and his clothing was soaked, the ill-fitting shirt wrapped around him sideways like an ugly bandage. Water ran off his clothing onto Toothless’ back, dripping from the tips of his wings onto the water below, where Tuffnut and Ruff were still splashing each other.

“So you can swim,” she said when she could speak. “With a metal dragon.”

“Yeah. Right. Thanks for encouraging him.” Hiccup pulled his dripping shirt off, then wrung it out over Toothless’ head so a stream of water ran over his eyes and nose. Toothless snorted at him and glared over his shoulder. “Serves you right, listening to her.” 

Hiccup turned to tuck his shirt into the saddle bag beside him, and Astrid enjoyed the view, interrupting her inspection of the water below them with an inspection of the person beside her. He looked down at the swimmers jumping off the dock, then over at her, and caught her staring. 

“Nice bruise,” she said quickly.

He lifted his arm and glanced down at the diagonal slash across his ribs, the red edges highlighting the mottled purple as it bloomed beneath his skin. “Yeah, got me good, didn’t he?” 

“You’re still sparring with Tuffnut?”

“Of course he is!” Barf and Belch flew in a circle around Toothless and Stormfly, who hovered in the air as best they could. Ruffnut was in her saddle, but Tuffnut was standing on his. It was pretty plain to Astrid that Ruff was about to push her brother off his perch, but she didn’t warn him.

Tuffnut gestured with one arm, his finger pointing at the sky. “There’s no better sparring master than yours - _AAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!_ ”

Ruffnut’s cackles covered up the splash he made, but a moment later, he yelled up to their dragon. “Belch! Barf! Roll over!” 

Ruffnut tumbled right off her saddle as Barf and Belch displayed a stunning level of obedience and spun in midair. Then then they looked at one another and with a growl, dove back to the water to pick up their riders. 

Astrid shook her head. “Looks like they forgot Ruff was up there.” 

“Yeah, they’re about as…aware as the twins are.” 

“You ok if I jump in?”

Hiccup’s eyes widened as Astrid sat back to pull off her boots and leggings. 

“Uh, sure. Yeah.”

His voice cracked, and she bit down on the corners of her smile so he wouldn’t see it. It wasn’t like she was diving in naked. She was wearing a shirt and had on short pants beneath her leggings, but when she stood up, barefoot in her saddle, Hiccup was looking away, down at the water. 

“Stormfly, hold.”

Beneath her, Stormfly spread her wings and remained still for a few moments, giving Astrid enough time to leap over her head and fall through the air into the water. The breeze on the way down was great while it lasted, but Tuffnut was right. 

The water was _freezing._

“You ok?” Hiccup’s voice called down to her as she surfaced, pushing her hair back and swimming away from the docks. 

Astrid saw him peeking down over Toothless’ wing, and gave Hiccup the signal that she was all right. Then she turned over onto her back, looking up at the sky. Stormfly was above her, as was Toothless, and she could see their claws and wings moving as they battled the lack of wind to stay aloft. Stormfly in particular didn’t want to leave her position over Astrid, but had to circle to stay in view. There were no updrafts, no currents of air to coast upon, and she knew the dragons would get tired sooner than they normally would. 

She could feel her braid floating below her in the water as she swam with half-hearted, idle strokes through the waves. The water was choppy, what with all the vikings jumping into it, but with her head back and her ears below the water, her face turned to the sky, for a moment, it was quiet. 

Her world surrounded her: the cliffs protecting to her home to her left, the docks just below her feet, the ocean she saw every day of her life holding her within its grasp, and the sky she loved to fly into covering everything in a hot dome of brilliant blue. And directly above her, two dragons, and Hiccup. Though she couldn’t see him, she knew he was there. 

When Astrid realized she couldn’t quite feel her toes, she lifted her head and signaled to Stormfly with one hand. In seconds, Stormfly dove straight toward her, so fast that Astrid heard gasps of concern from the people behind her. At the last moment, Astrid raised her arms above her head, her hands clasped, and kicking her legs, pushed herself up out of the water. Stormfly hooked her claws around Astrid’s arms, and yanked her from the sea before she could sink back down. Then, with a practiced kick, Stormfly tossed her into the air above her head, and flew forward so Astrid landed in her saddle. 

“Nice job, girl! Thank you!”  

“Astrid. Wow. That was impressive,” Hiccup said, flying over to her. “How long have you been working on that?” 

Astrid shrugged and squeezed the water from her braid, the icy sea water much more tolerable now. “Sometimes we play fetch, and I’m the bait.”

Then Hiccup made some sort of strangled noise as he flew past her, and she looked at him while they each flew in another slow circle over the vikings in the water and on the docks. 

His face was red, and he was rubbing his hair while he looked at the water, at Stormfly, at Barf and Belch, who were pulling the twins out of the water with enough disorganization that one would fall in again just as the other got out. Toothless leveled off with Stormfly, wings almost touching again, but Hiccup wouldn’t look at her. 

She watched him for a moment.

She wasn’t imagining things. He looked at everything _but_ her. 

 _Oh, for Thor’s sake,_ Astrid thought to herself, feeling that familiar anger sizzle beneath her skin again. What is his problem now? 

Then, a rare but welcome breeze moved across her body. She shivered. 

And that’s when she realized: no bindings. She wasn’t wearing any bindings, or a shift. Just a shirtand short pants made of wool. Wet wool that was light in color, and now - she glanced down - yes, transparent and clinging to her skin. 

For a moment she wanted to curl into herself and hide, but there was no one around them yet. So she looked over at Hiccup, her back straight as if she were flying in full armor and carrying an axe. 

He was bright red, and looking away from her with all that determination she coveted. 

Astrid was tempted to jump onto Toothless again, just to scare Hiccup and make him see her. But before she could make the leap across the wingspans between them, Barf and Belch appeared to her right. 

Ruffnut called over to her. “Astrid! You have got to teach us how to get them to yank us out of the water like that. That was seriously cool.” 

“Yeah, that was excellent. And your shirt’s see-through,” Tuffnut said, in the same tone of voice he’d use if Snotlout was on fire, or if Fishlegs was carrying a book. No big deal, it seemed, which surprised Astrid. But then, it hadn’t occurred to her to be embarrassed in front of him, either. 

Tuff moved on to other subjects, his lack of interest apparent. “Anyway. You know, H. I’ve been thinking.”

“Reaaaally?” His sister’s mocking reply was long and slow, and Astrid hid her smile behind her hand. 

Tuffnut glanced over his shoulder at his sister. “Yes, Missy. You should try it sometime. Anyway, Hiccup. You should spar with Astrid.”

“Wait, what?” Hiccup, it seemed, hadn’t been listening. “I should do what?”

“You’re pretty good with the staff, and while it’s always fun to practice with a master such as myself, you’d be better off learning close combat, too. Astrid’s the best at that.”

“Yeah, he’s right.” Everyone turned in shock to look at Ruffnut. “What? Tuff’s good with a longstaff-“

“You bet I am.” 

“But if you want close combat with heavy sharp objects, Astrid’s the one to beat.”

Astrid had no idea what to say to that. “Uh, thank you?”

Tuffnut turned to Hiccup. “Seriously, H. You’ve already got long range aim, and you’re good with the staff, though not as good as I am. Any time you want me to knock your leg out from under you, I’m on it. But you should start sparring with Astrid.”

Astrid turned to Hiccup and waited for him to look at her. He had to. He had no choice. And she enjoyed every second of his obvious discomfort when he finally met her eyes and would not allow his gaze to drop below her chin. 

“I’m game,” she said with a slow smile. “We don’t have the same fighting style, but it’d be good practice. And I can still kick your ass.” 

Hiccup arched a brow but didn’t reply. He looked over at Tuffnut and said something, but Astrid didn’t pay attention. She was watching him, watching one bead of water make its way down his back to disappear into the dark fabric of his leggings over his hip. When their eyes met again, the air around her went still and silent, like the ocean had covered her ears again. 

Then his eyes narrowed as he smiled at her, a smile that was full of promise, and possibility. 

 


	9. Flying Through Darkness

The afternoon passed slowly. The air didn’t cool, and heat reflected from every surface, from the dirt and the rocks of the mountains behind them to the wavy shifting surface of the sea. If the vikings of Berk weren’t in the water, they were near it, or on their way back to it. The whole village, it seemed, was on the docks, or swimming to and from a nearby beach in one of the inlet coves. 

Hiccup felt the salt water from the ocean hardening on his skin and could see faint smudges of grey and white across Toothless’ head from where drops of the sea had evaporated in the sun. Hiccup’s hair was thick and unruly, too. When he stuck his hands in it to scratch his scalp, he knew it only got bigger and more ridiculous, if Astrid’s smirks were any indication. 

Tuff and Ruff were still jumping off Barf and Belch, trying to prove who could make the biggest splash, or possibly who could drown the other one first. Ruffnut’s hair, which was usually in two long braided cords on each side of her head, was pulled into a long, wet, tangled mess at the back of her head. At one point, it might have been a braid. Tuff, who liked his hair the way it was, and rarely washed it or paid any attention to it unless it was on fire, clearly liked how the salt water made his sister’s hair easy to grab so he could dunk her under water and swim out of the way before she surfaced.

Astrid refused to judge their competition, and she kept watch alongside Hiccup as more Vikings jumped into the strangely welcoming waters of the sea. The ocean wasn’t trying to kill them with bone-chilling cold or violent waves, so it was a rare treat to jump in and make friends with the water that lived alongside them. The sea was still cold, as Hiccup could report firsthand, but, judging from the number of people leaping into and out of the sea, it wasn’t dangerous.  

Astrid wasn’t able to resist the water either, though she’d said after her first dive in that she wouldn’t be going back. It was too warm to stay out. As their dragons hovered and circled above the swimmers, she stood up and dove into the water head first a few times, always making sure to leap and land far away from the twins. Then she'd fly up alongside Hiccup for awhile before the water tempted her to return.

Hiccup was looking again at the drying salt patterns on Toothless’ scales, tracing the lines and thinking that they resembled the curving cliffs of Berk when a shadow crossed his hand. 

“One more jump, and then I’m going to head home, I think. Stormfly is getting tired. I’ll send Snotlout and Fishlegs when I see them.”  

When he looked up, he had to shade his eyes. The sun was directly behind Astrid, outlining her body so she was a dark shadow against a brilliant white sky. It hurt to look, but he didn't want to look away. 

No one was near them, and from below, no one could see him, either. If anyone in the water looked up, they’d see Toothless’ claws and wings, and maybe Hiccup’s foot and metal leg, but they couldn’t see where or at what he was looking. 

And it wasn’t like he had that much fortitude left, he thought with a quiet breath of laughter. 

Each time Astrid dove into the water, she swam for a bit, and then called Stormfly to come and pull her out of the water and into the air with such precision that Astrid landed on her saddle every time. 

And each time Astrid got out of the water, her shirt was more stretched out, more waterlogged, more tightly wound around her body, and more transparent. 

He tried not to stare. It was not easy. But he was genuinely worried that if he allowed himself to absorb what he saw, he wouldn’t be able to look at or think of anything else for hours. Possibly days. 

Oh, who was he kidding - he’d have that image seared into his memory for the rest of his waking life. 

But when she stood up now, and said she was heading back to Berk, he told himself that he was being ridiculous. So he looked. 

Stormfly and Toothless had shifted their bodies in the minuscule breeze, and the sun was now slightly behind them. Astrid stood barefoot on Stormfly’s back, as comfortable and balanced as if she were on land, wringing the water from her hair and making sure her boots and leggings were securely tied to her saddle.

Her shirt was still stuck to her, a long twist of translucent fabric wrapped around the contours and shadows of her body. It revealed more than it covered. Her nipples were hard, and he realized he’d never seen her breasts unbound. 

Well, no, that wasn’t entirely true. 

He thought back, remembering the times they’d sat on the warm flat rocks at the hot springs, waiting for his skin to dry so they could walk back together. She hadn’t been bound then, but she’d been wearing a loose tunic, an old one he only saw her wear on washing day. Because her days usually involved fighting or sparring of some sport, and practicing flight patterns and stunts with Stormfly, Astrid’s clothing was always practical, and sometimes lethal. Her hair was braided and twisted behind her and out of her way, her leggings reinforced at the knees, her armor custom made for her, leaving her body and strength contained and efficiently coiled.

Now, her hair was mostly unwound and reached past her hips, a wet twisting tangle that looked white in the sun. Her legs were bare beneath short pants, and her shirt…. Hiccup swallowed. The bleached wool hid nothing. 

He felt like he was seeing her naked, except that she wasn’t. But it didn’t matter because he still didn’t know where to look, or where not to look. 

And to his horror he realized that while he’d been thinking, he’d been staring. 

At her. 

Not just at her. His eyes focused on what was directly in front of him.

He’d been staring at her breasts.

And now that he was actually aware of what he was seeing, he couldn’t absorb the details fast enough:how the rounded curves beneath were outlined against the sky, the way her nipples were puckered against the wool, how her body was shaped so differently when released from the confinement of her armor. There were curves he didn’t know, shadowed lines of muscles he hadn’t seen. 

“Ahem.” 

Astrid cleared her throat, and Hiccup closed his eyes. He’d done exactly what he hadn’t wanted to do. His skin was already red from the sun, from sparring with Tuffnut and flying shirtless for hours. It was probably only fair that his face would turn a deeper red to match. 

He looked up at her face, an apology on the tip of his tongue, but the expression on her face stopped him. 

She didn’t look angry. 

She looked intense, focused, the way she did when about to throw a weapon or sight a target, but she wasn’t looking at him like the target was his skull. 

Then she smiled at him, her lips slowly curving into a grin that was wicked, and very knowing.

And before he could think about what he was saying, desperate to break the tension that could so easily go wrong, Hiccup spoke the first words that entered his mind. 

“I have to wash the salt off Toothless and myself. When you find Snotlout and Fishlegs, I’ll head out, too.”

“Going to the cove?” Astrid turned to face him, shifting her stance on Stormfly’s back, and Hiccup congratulated himself on not passing out or gawking at her. She wasn’t afraid, or angry, or even shy. Her back was straight, her hands resting on her hips, and she was either proud or unconcerned or both, like she didn’t care that so much of her was so visible. She was herself as much as she ever was, except he was seeing her in a way that he hadn’t before, in a way that maybe no one had. 

He shook his head, remembering that she’d asked him a question. 

“No, the cove water is a little slimy right now. We’ll go to the falls, probably.”

Astrid’s smile widened. “Good to know. See you later.”

And then she jumped, arching her back and flipping sideways off Stormfly, then facing the water with a scream of delight that ended when she hit the waves below. 

Toothless grumbled, flicking his head and rubbing at the salt on his skin. 

“Yeah, me, too, Bud. We’ll go clean off in a bit.”

 

…

 

When Snotlout and Fishlegs found him in the air a short while later, Hiccup was more than ready to leave the sky - a rare feeling for him. The twins welcomed them both with yells and invitations to jump in. Snotlout yanked off his helmet and started tugging his vest over his head immediately, but Fishlegs looked down and immediately shook his head. Snotlout seemed to be moving slowly, and Hiccup noticed a large red mark across Snotlout's arm when he pulled off his shirt. After he jumped off Hookfang with a horrible yell, one that sounded a bit scared as he approached the water, Hiccup turned to Fishlegs. 

“What happened to his arm?”

“Oh, uh, well.” Fishlegs turned a bit pink and rubbed his hands together. “You see, um, Snotlout…yeah. He, uh….”

Hiccup shook his head slowly, very confused. “He what?”

Fishlegs took a deep breath, and peeked over his shoulder to make sure Snotlout was far out of earshot. He was, but Fishlegs waited to speak until Snotlout was underwater. 

“When we took off, Snotlout said something to Astrid about her, um, her clothing, or the, uh, lack thereof.”

“Oh, Gods.”

“Yeah. I didn’t know she could throw her shoulder armor that hard, or that it would bounce back to her.”

Hiccup cringed, biting the inside of his lips. 

“Oh, well,” Fishlegs said with a smile after once again checking that Snotlout couldn’t overhear. “Serves him right. See you later, Hiccup.”

With a wave at Fishlegs, Hiccup and Toothless tilted out of the sky toward the water, picking up speed as they fell. He signaled to his dad what direction he was flying, then he and Toothless took off toward the mountains. When the shadows of the cliffs and peaks covered them both, the cool air was welcome, and Toothless slowed down. 

“Want to go cavern hunting?”

Toothless growled an eager response, and lowered his head, scenting the air and looking for a cavern to explore. The mountains around them were riddled with caves, hollow chambers and tunnels that sometimes led to the other side of the island, and other times led to dead ends, collapsed walls, or long-abandoned campsites from vikings that may have gone exploring generations before them. Hiccup and Toothless had flown into a few, and the higher up the mountain face the tunnels were, the more likely they were to be empty, and possibly undiscovered until that moment. 

Toothless particularly liked to find tunnels that went down into darkness, which tended to give Hiccup a mix of cold fear and ferocious curiosity. Toothless could navigate by sound, and as long as Hiccup stayed low over Toothless’ head and kept his head down, his dragon knew instinctively which spaces he could fly through, and which were too small for him to maneuver. They’d tilt, dive, and spin through different caverns, dodging the stone spikes that sometimes rose from the ground and twisting around hanging spears of rock that filled the ceilings. 

“You pick, bud. And try not to knock me into any walls this time.”

Toothless growled at him, then folded his wings to dive through the air and duck beneath a rock bridge that spanned two mountains. They were flying fast between two walls of a steep valley lined with straggly trees and patches of moss, a stream running at the bottom. The water level was lower than normal since there had been hardly any rain, but the stream ran with them as they flew, each heading toward the wide break in the mountains where the falls began. 

Toothless’ ears twitched once, and that was the only warning Hiccup had before Toothless turned sharply to the right and entered a dark cave partially obscured by a bare pine growing out of a crack in the rock wall. Inside, they slowed down, but continued forward without landing. The light behind them soon faded, and Hiccup could neither see nor hear anything. He stayed low over Toothless’ back, looking forward into the darkness. The cool air ran over his skin in rippled paths like fingers of ice on his back.

Toothless would fire short blasts into the darkness, lighting the path for a moment, but it was only for Hiccup to see. Toothless could hear the changes in the walls, find the path of the tunnel they were in using only sound and vibrations, but despite knowing they were safe, the feeling of flying through complete darkness never failed to douse Hiccup with a prickly sense of exhilaration and fear. 

Then they turned to the left, and a tiny spot of light in the distance grew larger. A sound like broken, unending thunder swelled around them, too.

“Did we find a tunnel to the falls?” Hiccup lifted his head a bit, then laughed as Toothless smacked Hiccup on the head with his ear. “Fine, fine, did _you_ find a tunnel to the falls?” 

With a rush of sound, they exited the darkness, and Toothless spread his wings and soared in a wide arc. The falls were to their left and behind them, and once his eyes adjusted to the brightness, Hiccup could see over his shoulder the cave opening halfway up the face of the mountain, mostly hidden by the mist that surrounded the waterfall. 

“Nice going, Toothless!” Water had begun to gather on Toothless’ skin, rinsing away the salt, and Hiccup suddenly wanted to be clean as soon as possible. They descended to the moss-covered rocks where the water was calmer. Within minutes, Hiccup was out of the saddle, spinning his prosthesis so the spiked end was pointed down, allowing him traction on the rocks. 

“Want to swim? I can take your saddle off, if you want.”

Toothless lowered his head and with practiced movements, Hiccup lifted the saddle and removed the stirrups on each side. The cords that allowed him to shift and maneuver Toothless’ tail fin retracted into a coil beneath the saddle, leaving only the prosthetic tail attached. That was harder to remove, but in a minute or two, it was on the moss beside the saddle and most of Toothless’ flying mechanism, and the dragon himself was in the water. 

Hiccup took a minute to organize all the gear so it would be easier to reattach. Toothless took exception to that decision and whipped his tail across the surface, spraying Hiccup with a wave of water.

“Hey!”

 Toothless laughed and bounced through the churning water, lifting his wings high above him, and threatening to soak Hiccup even more.

“Alright, I’m coming, I’m coming.”

With a growl of smug satisfaction, or at least it seemed so to Hiccup, Toothless folded his wings. 

“Staring doesn’t make me move faster, you know.” 

One wing slipped beneath the surface and tossed water onto Hiccup’s head. 

“What? You are going to regret that!” 

Hiccup pulled off his prosthesis, and, after setting it on a higher rock away from the water, pulled off his clothing and slid into the water. 

“There, happy now?”

Toothless’ answer was to whip his tail in a wide arc underwater and knock Hiccup’s leg out from under him. 

 


	10. Beneath the Mist

Toothless and Hiccup rolled and swam in the shallow end of the pool while the endless rush of the waterfall surrounded them with a cloud of cooling mist. The fresh water cracked and rinsed away the dried salt, and to Hiccup it felt like like he was shedding his skin. He ducked under water over and over, rinsing the rough texture of the sea from his hair and scrubbing his skin with sand from the bottom of the pool. Like the ocean surrounding Berk, the waterfall was usually too cold to swim through, but with the unrelenting heat that had settled in like an unwanted visitor, the water was perfect. 

Toothless grew tired of swimming quicker than Hiccup did, and climbed out to stretch his body across several of the moss-covered rocks that lined the pool. Hiccup suspected that Toothless didn’t like knowing he couldn’t fire if he had to, and liked to dry off as soon as possible. Plus the rocks were warm, and the moss almost welcoming, so it was as good a place as any to nap, which was pretty much all the dragons wanted to do in the heat, anyway. 

Hiccup laughed to himself as he swam on his back, looking up at the sky. If it was too hot for a fire-breathing dragon, it really was too hot for everyone. 

When Hiccup finally felt clean and cool, he pulled himself out of the water and tossed his clothing and his prosthetic closer to Toothless’ wing. Then, using his arms and his leg, he pushed himself across the rock to lean against Toothless’ side. Toothless grunted at him, already mostly asleep. 

The sun had begun to move slowly behind the mountains above them, and the line of afternoon shadows were sliding across the pool towards them, but there was still plenty of light. Hiccup always carried a small drying cloth and a notebook and pencil with him in a saddlebag, so after pulling on his leggings and rolling them up past his knees, he sat back and sketched what he saw while he waited for the rest of his skin to dry. The sun lit the mist from the falls in a different way than the mist over the hot springs, and it was difficult to capture on paper. After a few tries, he gave up, and drew whatever came to mind. 

When he idly drew a curve down the margin of his paper that looked alarmingly like the curve of Astrid’s back, he lifted his pencil and shook his head at himself. His mind would have been overwhelmed enough with images of flying with her earlier, but with Tuffnut’s never-ending lectures about his Book of Not Dragons while they sparred that morning, Hiccup’s mind was in nonstop motion. It was a pleasant torment for the most part, except when he had to exert significant effort to stop thinking about things he shouldn’t think about until he knew he was alone. 

Well, he was alone right then. And he wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry, either. 

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, pushing his damp hair back from his face with one hand, the fingertips of the other spinning his charcoal. 

He’d looked again the night before at the book he kept locked away. After another determined effort, he gave up on trying to translate the language, and focused on the illustrations and the text that surrounded them. It wasn’t so difficult to decipher the text if there was an arrow pointing at a particular section of a drawing, especially in the beginning chapters, which were nothing but sketches and labels. But the larger paragraphs of text were a mystery.

When he’d read, or tried to read the book in the past, he’d focused mainly on the latter half, which was an intricate series of drawings depicting several hundred variations of sexual positions. Some he didn’t entirely believe were possible, or even enjoyable. The first time he’d seen them, he’d blushed so fiercely that he’d thought he was giving himself a fever. He’d been terrified that he’d be caught studying them, and would only examine the book when his father was out, and when he knew no one would be looking for him. When he was younger, that happened pretty much every day, for hours at a time, but as he grew older, and as he and the dragons changed Berk, he didn’t have much time to himself alone in the house. 

Of course, it wasn’t until recently that he’d thought to study the book again. When he was younger, he’d been trying to supplement the minimal amount of education he’d received from Stoick, and his determination to learn was born mostly out of his own curiosity. There was something he didn’t know, and he wanted to know about it, so he figured out a way to learn. 

Now, he had other reasons to return to the secret book, though he still had a monumental fear of being discovered while reading it. So he’d risked having the book out of the locked metal box while his father was home, knowing that Stoick rarely if ever climbed the stairs to Hiccup’s room, just as he hardly ever entered his father’s chamber. They respected each other’s space in their house, an unspoken truce that had existed long before they learned to talk to one another. 

The drawings in the front made more sense, he’d realized. His body hadn’t matched any of the illustrations when he was younger, but now he understood better what he was seeing. But the second section of bound pages, which were all about women, those still set his face on fire like he’d been dipped in molten forge metal. Everything was so…different. And hidden. And without the ability to understand the text, he was both edified and frustrated. He knew what he was seeing, but not what the words said, nor what they meant. 

He hadn’t even looked at the more adventurous section in the latter half of the book. Instead, he’d studied the drawings closely, trying to align what they described with what little he knew, both from his own experience and from a lifetime of observation - vikings weren’t modest, as a rule. Bit his understanding of the intricate specifics of the book he hid in his room evolved slowly, so much so that it frustrated him. He didn’t like to learn anything slowly. His mind was as impatient as he was, and when he realized something, understood a word or the reason a drawing had been rendered in a particular fashion, he felt like he’d conquered a mountain, or tamed another dragon. 

Tuffnut’s book might have helped, if Tuffnut made any sense describing it, which of course he didn’t. Tuff was as obscure as the writing Hiccup couldn’t read. And Hiccup’s questions yielded answers that only caused more questions. 

That morning, Tuffnut had been furious that Ruff had once again absconded with his Not Dragons, and while it had been easier for Hiccup to score points against him while they sparred, but harder to get any information out of him. 

In the middle of a match, Tuffnut had stopped moving for a split second. “Ah! I should ask Astrid for ideas on how to knock her down and get it back.”

Hiccup blocked a spinning thrust aimed at his head, ducked under Tuff’s arm, and spun to his left to block another attack. “Why’d Ruff take it?”

“I do not know. She keeps looking at the section with all these drawings in it. Of women, I think.” 

“Section with…women?” Hiccup had been watching Tuffnut’s movements to anticipate how he’d spin and strike next, so the words took a second to penetrate his attention. When they did, he nearly tripped himself with his own weapon. 

“Yeah. I’ll be honest with you: I don’t understand any of it.”

Tuffnut didn’t sound very interested in anything about the book, except having it in his possession and boasting about it, which Hiccup had found a little odd. They’d switched places to begin again, their conversation a low accompaniment to the sharp, quick staccato of their staves. Tuff pushed Hiccup hard in their matches, but Hiccup had learned to read him, and could usually anticipate his movements. He could never anticipate Tuffnut’s words, however, and those more than anything else distracted him. 

“You don’t want to, you know, read it?” 

“Read? Nah. Don’t plan to. But I do plan to sell the information. See, H, let me ask you.” Tuff casually spun the staff over his shoulders, his posture relaxed while his fingers manipulated the spear with such speed that the wood was a blur. “You know things. How much would you pay for knowledge of the utmost importance?”

Hiccup had looked closely at Tuff. Now they were getting somewhere. He knew Tuff didn’t have his book, that his was still safely locked in his room. But Hiccup was still nibbled by curiosity as to what exact book Tuff had - or had until recently. “What kind of knowledge specifically do you want to sell? Like, individual pages?” 

“Yeah! That’s a good idea. See? You know this kind of thing. Your mind thinks in… logical ways.”

“How would you sell pages? As a group, rip them out of the book?!” 

“Maybe. I mean, there’s the page with the boars. That one page I could sell on its own for quite a bit, don’t you think?”

“Boars.” What kind of book _was_ this? Maybe he should build a massive weapon to trade Tuffnut for it, just to find out. But then Tuff would have a weapon.

“Looked like boars, anyway. Maybe it was yaks. Or that one page with the bucket. Or something like a bucket? The woman on the page is really happy about it, whatever it is.”

“Ae you sure you’re not reading it upside down?”

“Huh. Maybe I am.”

“Yeah?” 

“The yak would look funny, though.”

“Maybe…maybe you should let me take a look at it, so you know how valuable the book is… or isn’t?”

“Excellent idea, my fine fellow. Except….” Tuffnut had slumped with a groan and lowered his staff, his body deflating as the energy of their match appeared to desert him. “Ruffnut. That lying she-beast, _she_ has it and I don’t know where she’s keeping it.”

Tuff had feigned that same collapse of strength before, so Hiccup was ready when he spun and surged forward, blocking each of Tuff’s attacks and ultimately landing one of his own to win the match. 

The thing that had surprised Hiccup more than the number of matches he’d won that morning was Tuff’s answer when Hiccup asked why he didn’t want to find the book, why he didn’t want to steal it back from Ruffnut and keep it for himself. 

“I could help you hide it, as long as you, well, don’t forget where you put it.”

“Keep it? I do like being the master of Not Dragons, of course, but…no.”

“No? Isn’t there someone you like… that you… I mean, wouldn’t you want to…I don’t know, study it?”

“Me? Nah. Not my thing.” 

Hiccup couldn’t figure out if that meant he wasn’t interested in the contents of the book, which Hiccup was sure were pretty similar to the contents of his own, or if Tuff, as usual, thought reading and studying were a waste of time. 

Maybe Tuffnut wasn’t interested, or hadn’t found anyone he’d be interested in. It’s not like there were a a ton of people in Berk. 

Hiccup looked down at his notebook and shaded in the curves that went along with the line he’d drawn on the edge of his paper. Thanks to Tuffnut, he was going to spar with Astrid… which should be more distracting than fighting Tuffnut, for a multitude of reasons. 

And if thinking of her wasn’t unsettling enough, just as he finished his drawing, Astrid and Stormfly appeared, bursting into view through the mist.

They circled above Hiccup and Toothless, landing on the rock next to them. Toothless greeted Stormfly with a low skipping growl, and Stormfly shook her head and quills at him while Astrid jumped down from her saddle. 

Astrid looked furious and miserable. She was wearing leggings, her skirts, and a long sleeved shirt with gauntlets over her forearms. She wasn’t wearing her armor, but her face was flushed and sweaty. Her hairline was damp, and she wiped her forehead with the back of her arm repeatedly. 

“I hate everything!” 

“Ok,” Hiccup said, closing his notebook and moving closer to his leg. “Want us to leave?”

“No, you can stay,” Astrid replied, her voice low and edged with anger. “I don’t hate you. But I hate everyone else.”

“What happened? Wait - do you want to sit down? Or fly somewhere?” Hiccup ran his hand over the stump of his leg, feeling to see if the skin was dry enough to attach his prosthesis. 

“No, thanks.” Astrid collapsed on the rock across from him, and began unwinding her gauntlets with sharp, frustrated movements.

“What happened?” 

“My mother happened.”

“Oh, Gods.”

One gauntlet went flying across the rock, followed by the other. Then Astrid rose to her knees to unlaced her skirt. She didn’t throw that, thankfully, as it might have caused some damage if it hit anyone. She didn’t pull off any more clothing, either, though Hiccup knew she had to be too warm in a wool underskirt, leggings and long sleeves. 

Astrid sat back down across from Hiccup, crossed her legs in front of her, leaning back on her arms and glaring at the treetops behind him. “She saw me flying back home before I pulled my clothing out of the tree. For Odin’s sake, it’s so hot!” She sat up, her hand cutting through the air in frustration. “Everyone’s swimming in one piece of clothing, and some in even less. But I fly without my usual armor, without wearing four shirts or more, and it’s the end of the world.” 

“She was mad, huh?”

“Lost her temper completely. She could barely walk and yell at the same time.” 

Hiccup shivered. Astrid’s mother was scary when she was happy. He’d never seen her lose her temper. He hoped he never did. 

“Sigrid pulled her into the house before she could embarrass us, but I had to leave before I got angry and said something I’d regret later.” 

“Strategic retreat?” 

Astrid looked at him, a twist of a smile on her face. “Yeah. Something like that.”

“Well, there is no one here, and I promise I won’t tell if you want to jump in the water. I’ll even leave if you want.” 

“No, don’t do that. I flew over because I hoped you’d still be here. Of course….” Her voice trailed off in a tone that was more unhappy than he’d heard from her before.

“Of course, what?”

Astrid sighed, her shoulders slumping even more. Then she rose up on her knees again. “Watch.”

She moved forward, crawling toward Hiccup. He couldn’t back away because he was still leaning against Toothless. He pushed his metal leg out of the way just before Astrid moved over him, straddling his lap, her face inches from his, her body brushing against him. She put her hands on his shoulders, the look on her face both wicked and resigned. 

Hiccup didn’t know what to do, where to put his hands, or where to even look. What was she-

Suddenly, Stormfly squawked in anger, surprising both Hiccup and Toothless. Hiccup couldn’t move, but Toothless rolled so his legs were beneath him, which pressed Hiccup against Astrid for a terrible scorching moment. Then Stormfly jumped up from the rock, flew over Astrid, and using her claws, gently but firmly picked Astrid up and dropped her down on the rock across from Hiccup where she’d been sitting before. 

 

 


	11. Slow Strategy Beneath the Mist

Astrid landed on her feet, then slumped down onto the rock cross legged in a defeated position. “Can you believe that?”

Hiccup couldn’t help himself. He burst out laughing. “Stormfly? What was that? Who…what the…?”

“I’m glad you’re amused,” Astrid said, her voice curled with bitterness, though Hiccup could tell she was fighting herself to keep from smiling. “My mother told Stormfly to… I don’t know, keep me away from everyone. _‘I’m counting on you, dragon, don’t you let me down!’”_

Astrid’s impersonation of her mother wasn’t very good, but it was very funny. To Hiccup, anyway. The hint of smile disappeared from Astrid’s face, leaving a worrisome fury behind. He needed to stop laughing before Astrid threw her axe at him. 

“You don’t even understand how ridiculous this is, Hiccup. It’s not just you. I tried to help Fishlegs with his vest before I flew over here, because his arm got stuck in it - Snotlout knocked him in the water so he was soaking wet and shivering. And Stormfly picked me up the minute I touched Fishlegs, carried me off and nearly dropped me in the water trough.” 

Hiccup gave up trying not to laugh, and bent over, covering his face with his hand. He wanted desperately to stop, but it was too much. 

“Yeah, yeah. Go on, enjoy it while you can.”

Hiccup wiped his face with the edge of his sleeve. “How did your mother train Stormfly?”

“I have no idea, but I have to figure out how to fix this.” Astrid turned her head and looked at her dragon. “You hear that, girl? This is not happening.” 

Stormfly lowered her head and tilted her right eye toward Astrid. Her squawk sounded sad, like she was worried that Astrid was upset at her. 

Hiccup looked at Stormfly closely. “I think she’s confused.”

“Yeah? She’s not the only one.”

“Astrid, you and your mother rarely fight, right?”

Astrid nodded. “We used to, but not so much lately. Except for today. You’d think wearing a shirt and short pants was the worst thing I’ve ever done. She has no idea.” 

Hiccup was pretty sure pointing out that Astrid’s clothing had been nearly transparent by the time she’d flown home would not help the situation. “Do you want to go swim and cool off?”

Astrid shook her head as she rolled up her sleeves. “I am going to change though. Excuse me.” 

Hiccup looked down at his notebook, staring intently at a blank page while Astrid stood behind Stormfly’s wings. He could hear her talking to her dragon, her voice becoming more soft, less brittle with anger. When she returned, she had removed her underskirt, and was wearing loose older leggings that she’d cut off at the knee, and her sleeves were pushed up. 

“Much better,” she said. “How long is it going to be this hot? I almost miss winter. Almost.”

She moved to sit across from Hiccup, but before she sat down, he caught her attention with a look, and glanced at Stormfly. Astrid stilled, her expression shifting quickly from confused to curious. 

Sometimes, more often lately, they could communicate without words. Right then, in that moment, everything was still, and he focused on Astrid, his mind sifting through ways to shift Stormfly’s attention from guarding Astrid. Hiccup met Astrid’s eyes, gestured with his pencil, and glanced at the rock next to him. Astrid gave him a small, private smile in reply. 

Slowly, like it had been her intention all along, she took two steps forward, and sat down next to Hiccup. Stormfly was on her right, and Hiccup was on her left, with Toothless behind them both. 

Astrid didn’t look at Stormfly. She glanced at the moss below them, and then up at Hiccup before looking down. “Is she staring at me?”  

“A little. But you’re not doing anything she’s interpreting as a problem. So relax, but slowly.”

“Is this how to un-train your dragon?”

Hiccup laughed quietly, keeping his voice low and even so Stormfly wouldn’t react. “I have no idea. I know Nadders are protective and territorial, but I have no idea why she’d suddenly guard you from your own actions like that.” 

“It-“ 

Hiccup covered Astrid’s hand with his own, reminding her to be calm, not to let her voice burn hot, fueled by frustration. 

She breathed in slowly before she spoke again. “I don’t get it, either, but hey, at least I know not to bring her with me when I spar with you tomorrow. She’ll toss me into a tree.”

“Eh, wouldn’t be the first time.”

Astrid elbowed him, but not hard enough to make him flinch. Then she smiled at him. “What are you working on?”

“Me? Nothing, really.”

“Can I see?”

Hiccup thought of the curve and shadows he’d drawn before she’d arrived. “Uh, no.” 

“No?” Astrid looked shocked, and a little hurt. 

“Move closer,” Hiccup said softly, glancing up at Stormfly, who had curled her wings around her and was seated on the rock, watching them both. 

“Closer to you?” 

Hiccup nodded. Astrid stretched her legs out in front of her, then curled them beneath her again, sliding over so that her shoulder touched his. Stormfly tilted her head, but didn’t object. 

Astrid tipped her head back and watched the waterfall before she spoke again. “I really am tired of all the heat.” Her voice was quiet, resigned. “I can’t sleep very well, and I’m crabby. Everyone’s crabby.”

Hiccup didn’t answer, giving Astrid quiet space to think.

“And everyone’s wearing less clothing, which is excellent in some ways and terrifying in others,” she said on a laugh. “Did you see Snotlout?”

Hiccup nodded, twisting his pencil through his fingers in a rapid twirl. “It was kind of… yeah.” 

“And there’s no night, either. I mean, that’s normal for summer, but how am I supposed to get anything done if I can’t sleep at night, and it’s too hot to move during the day?” 

“Lean forward,” Hiccup said quietly.

“Lean - how does that help? What the - are you even listening to me?”

“Every word. Lean forward.” 

With a slow hiss of exasperation, Astrid sat up, wrapping her arms around her knees and resting her chin on her hands. 

Keeping an eye on Stormfly with intermittent glances, Hiccup reached over and began moving his hand up and down Astrid’s back. He felt her tense initially, but then her muscles begin to relax beneath his hand, and he used a firmer pressure as he continued. 

“Good?”

Astrid nodded, looking down at the pool. 

“We should keep talking,” he said, watching the path his hand took as he slid his palm along one side of her spine up to the end of her braid, then down the other. “So she’ll stop guarding you.”

Her hair moved when she nodded, but it was a moment before she spoke. “Why are you sparring with Tuffnut? Or, why were you?”

He shrugged. “Good practice? I mean, you throw axes at trees fairly regularly.”

“Yeah, but….”

“But?”

“You’re good with an arrow, and you’ve got great aim from any distance. And you fly a dragon who can burn things to the ground with one strike. Why practice close combat?”

“Why do you?” They’d never talked about her training, how she continued fighting and training for battle, even though the war with the dragons was long over. It was just something she did, that she’d always done.

“We do have enemies, Hiccup.” 

She looked over her shoulder at him, eyebrows lowered. Hiccup felt a jolt of awareness the moment Astrid’s gaze met his, adding another connection between them as his palm moved across her back. He shifted his legs slightly.

“Yes. We do. And you fly on a Nadder with poisonous spines and the hottest dragon fire of any known breed.” 

She didn’t say anything. 

“So, why throw axes?”

Astrid looked away and shrugged, but he could tell from her brusque and immediate movement that she had an answer in mind. She didn’t want to say it, but she had a reason. 

Refusing to look at Stormfly, but knowing she was watching him, Hiccup carefully lifted Astrid’s braid, which was tangled and stiff from the seawater, and slid it over her shoulder. Then he continued slowly sliding his hand up, across, and down her back, moving closer to her sides a little more each time. Stormfly didn’t move or react, and Astrid’s breathing began to match the slow and smooth path he drew over her back. 

Her shirt had risen in the back when she leaned forward, and now that she was sitting with her body curled over her legs, there was a space between her shirt and her leggings. It was a narrow gap, not wider than his hand, and he’d been touching her consistently for several minutes, but that knowledge did nothing to diminish the way his heart sped up. He wanted to shake sense into himself, but sudden movements would alert Stormfly. So he looked at Astrid’s braid, at the shadows moving across the water, the way her shirt traced her muscles as his hand smoothed the fabric over and over. 

“If we were attacked,” Astrid began, her voice quiet, calm and almost normal sounding, despite the tension that suddenly filled her muscles. “If we were in battle, I’d be captured, most likely. A war prize.”

Hiccup stopped his hand, but kept his palm against her back, listening to her words as much as he was listening to the way her posture, her rigidity, revealed the fear and anger behind them. 

“And if…I….” She swallowed, then tried again. “I want to make sure that never happens.” 

She turned her head to look at him briefly, then looked back at the waterfall. Her braid fell over her shoulder and covered his hand.

He nodded slowly. He couldn’t lie, or wouldn’t, and tell her that she was wrong. She wasn’t wrong. 

After a minute, then another of stillness, Astrid repeated her original question. “So? What about you?” 

“Me?”

“Yeah. Why are you sparring so much?” 

Hiccup traced his fingertips over the coils and twists of her braid, then lifted it carefully and placed it over her shoulder. Astrid reached up to grab the ends of it, a sign she was deep in thought, or agitated about something. 

He began rubbing her back again, slowly, with more pressure, the flat of his palm smoothing out the tension again and following a wider, circular path across her shoulders, down her side, and then up. 

“Similar reason, I guess. If we were in battle with another tribe, I’d be killed. That’d be the goal in any attack. Kill the chief, and his son. And if I weren’t riding Toothless, if I were on my own, I… can’t always rely on shooting or long range attacks. I have to be able to….”

“Fight?”

“Defend myself, yeah.” 

“You know, you might be kidnapped instead,” Astrid pointing out, tilting her head toward him. 

“True. Wouldn’t be the first time, either. But the older I get, the less likely….” He trailed off. It was unsettling and more than a little weird to be talking about sparring, and death, and battle while beneath his hand the softness of Astrid’s shirt and the warmth of her skin was causing him to spin breathlessly inside. “So… I learn.”

“I can understand that. Good strategy.” 

He smiled. Astrid did love strategy. 

A silence grew between them, the roar of the falls and the soft rasp of his hand across her back the only sounds he heard. Astrid sighed, and sat back slightly as if she were reaching for his touch. His hand slid down her side, and he allowed his fingertips to trace across the narrow strip of skin showing beneath the hem of her shirt. Astrid flinched slightly, though she didn’t move away, but the movement caught Stormfly’s attention, her beak reflecting the sun as she focused on them both. 

Hiccup looked from Stormfly to his hand, to Astrid’s posture and position on the rock, and had an idea. He bent his right leg so it was behind Astrid, and whispered to Astrid to shift to her left. Placing his hands on the stone on either side of him, he leaned back, creating space for Astrid to move towards. 

Astrid curled her legs to the side and resettled a bit farther to her left. Hiccup slowly moved the other direction until, as he’d planned, Astrid was directly in front of him. 

He kept his voice low and calm, though inside he was anything but. “If you sit back, I’m right behind you. I don’t know how Stormfly will react to that, though.”

Astrid turned her head and looked at him again over her shoulder. The look on her face stopped his breath. Her expression was both peaceful and incendiary, like she wanted to sink into him and set him on fire at the same time. 

The heat between them rose and fell like the tide, changing the landscape of their relationship almost hourly, and he was used to it. Mostly. Sometimes that heat was an abiding warmth, the comfort of knowing that she understood him, that she wanted to hear what he was thinking about. Other times, it flared, out of control and roaring between them, scorching his thoughts into incoherent but constant desire. 

In that second, when she looked over her shoulder, the air around them both ignited. 

“Do- do you want to risk it?”

“Risk what?” Her voice was a low rasp, a whisper made of smoke and smoldering flame. “Sitting back? Absolutely.”

It was a shift in posture. Leaning forward to leaning back. A distance of less than the length of her arm. But Hiccup’s heart pounded so loudly, he was sure Stormfly and possibly all of Berk could hear it. 

Astrid slid her legs out in front of her, and crossed her ankles. She put one hand down near his and leaned back, bringing her body in contact with his from shoulder to hip, her head resting on his chest, his cheek against her hair. 

Hiccup’s arms were on either side of him, his fingertips pressing into the moss beneath. He slowly brought his arms around Astrid, and raised his right leg so he could rest his arm on his bent knee. His other hand, which Stormfly couldn’t see, curled over Astrid’s stomach, holding her closer.

Stormfly didn’t move. 

He waited for her to leap up, to turn her head from one side to the other so she could see them clearly, but she did neither of those things. She rustled her wings, spreading them out to catch more of the cooling mist from the waterfalls, maybe, then lowered her head and closed her eyes. 

“You’re a genius,” Astrid whispered, her breath slow and even, making him dizzy because he could feel her breathe, feel the curves he’d just drawn settling in rhythm against his chest, so much of her moving slowly against him. 

She shifted subtly, turning towards him so she could tilt her head back and look up at his face. “Are you uncomfortable?”

Hiccup shook his head. He was fine. But he didn’t trust himself to speak. 

 

 


	12. Quiet Intensity

Astrid turned her head and looked up at the waterfall. The mist and the dampness in the air obscured the edges of the water as it poured from the valley in the mountains high above them. She could see the water as it left the rock face, but she couldn’t follow it down to the pool. Each drop expanded into a white, roaring cloud that surrounded them both. 

The heat of summer did that, too. There was no boundary between day and night, and for the past week, no warm daylight that existed separately from a cooler evening. She was exhausted, a deep weariness that moved beyond merely being tired. She wanted to shut her eyes and disappear for awhile, hide from the burn of shame she’d felt as her mother scolded her, and avoid the gross leers and stupidity from Snotlout.

A low murmur reached her ears and she lifted her head to peek at Stormfly. She’d fallen asleep. 

“I’m almost envious of her,” Astrid said, keeping her voice quiet, below the roar of the waterfall. 

“I’m glad she’s napping.”

“Me, too.”

Hiccup’s voice was very dry. “Tired dragons are as irritable as tired vikings.” 

She lifted her arm as if she planned to elbow him. “Are you calling me irritable?”

“Me? No, never.”

Astrid breathed out a laugh. “Didn’t think so.”

She lowered her arm and relaxed further. The moss beneath them made the stone less uncomfortable, plus she was leaning on Hiccup, his right leg bent alongside her to hide how close she was to him. His arm rested on his knee, further obscuring her from Stormfly’s view, not that her dragon’s eyesight was all that good at close range. With the mist from the falls and the similar colors of their clothing, Stormfly had probably not been aware of how much of her was touching Hiccup. 

And it was a great deal of her, she thought, shifting her position so she could feel more of him, the warmth of his body against hers, the softness of his shirt beneath her skin. 

As she moved closer, she realized with a hot rush of clarity that not all of him was softness. He was definitely affected by their closeness as much as she was. 

Without thinking about her actions, she turned her head and kissed him. His mouth met hers as if he’d had the same thought at the same moment, and sparks filled her body as she pressed closer to him. 

Then she heard the unmistakable sound of Stormfly’s claws on stone. 

She pulled away and looked over at her dragon. “Sorry, girl. Go back to sleep.”

Stormfly chirped at her, a low warning sound, and while she did rest her head again, she didn’t close her eyes. She watched them, tilting her head left, then right, her eyes narrowed.

Astrid looked up at the waterfalls again, clenching her jaw and trying to relax again. “So annoying,” she whispered. 

She felt Hiccup kiss her hair, a gesture that made her melt a little inside each time he did it, and settled against his chest again, her head on his shoulder as she watched the curling mist float across the sky above them. 

Then she felt his hand. His left hand, which had been idle on his knee when she’d turned to kiss him, now moved over her stomach, sliding across her shirt in a slower, more incendiary version of how he’d touched her back a few minutes before. She tensed, her muscles hardening beneath his hand, and he stopped, and began pulling away. 

“No.” Her voice was a bare whisper, hidden entirely in the roar of the waterfall. “More.”

She glanced at him, but couldn’t see his face. She could see his hands, and both were taut, unmoving.

She wound her arm under his bent leg and interlaced her fingers with his, creating an additional barrier to Stormfly’s sight. “Please.”

After a long moment, several slow and anxious breaths between them, Hiccup rubbed his cheek against her hair, and his hand slid over her stomach again. The same circular movement over her back that had calmed her before now had the opposite effect. Each slow traverse of his hand caused bubbles inside her body like she was the base of the waterfall, all roiling surf and turbulent waves. 

Suddenly he removed his hand, and she was about to protest when she realized he was moving his prosthesis next to his leg, preparing to put it on. She glanced to her right, and as she expected, Stormfly was watching as closely as she was.

“Going somewhere? Running away?”

His answer was a short breath of laughter, and a quick shake of his head. “No, but….” His voice trailed off as he moved the straps into position and pulled the cuff of his leggings higher on his leg. 

“Feel more comfortable with it on?”

He stopped, and turned his head to look at her. “Yeah.”

“I get it. I feel the same way about my axe.”

“And your knives?”

“Those, too.” She heard in her own voice the smile that had grown across her face. She was relaxed, and content, for the first time in days. She reached out with her left hand and picked up one of the straps that held Hiccup’s prosthetic against his leg. His movements, routine and fluid with practice, stuttered for a moment before continuing. He wasn’t used to having help, but she’d watched him strap on his leg before, and knew how he did it. When he wrapped one strap around and reached for the other, she handed it to him, then lowered her hand to her waist, watching as he finished and lowered the cuff of his leggings over the connection where the wood and steel met his skin. 

“Thanks.”

“Any time,” she said, trying to keep her voice light and fluid like the mist above them. She couldn’t turn and kiss him. Nor could she move so she could touch more of his body, run the flat of her hand, or her tongue, over his skin the way she wanted to. She was limited in her options, and she didn’t like it, but she recognized that the limitations heated her inside in a way she hadn’t experienced before. 

Hiccup moved his leg so his prosthesis was out in front of him, his leg extended but apart from hers. So often he tried to keep that part of him separated from her, and she knew that he worried that he’d hurt her, that the spear tip he used on icy or wet surfaces would do her harm, that he’d injure her without meaning to. It was weird: he knew she wasn’t delicate, that she survived injuries, bruises and battle scarsas much as he had, but when it came to the metal of his leg, he was afraid for her to be anywhere hear it. 

So she deliberately extended her legs toward his, and stopped him from moving away. 

She felt him shake his head. He was probably rolling his eyes at her, but she didn’t care to turn her head to confirm whether that was true or not. Instead she shifted her body, a slow movement that slid her body against his. She missed his touch, and wanted more of it.

Then he moved his hand, and began again, the same gentle route up, over and down her stomach. 

Beneath her shirt. 

Great Odin, she was going to combust. 

She’d touched him before, and he’d done the same, both accidentally and with deliberate purpose, but this was different. They were out in the open beneath a blurry, hot sky, where she had to keep still and silent under the watchful gaze of a dragon intent on keeping her from enjoying anything.  

Whatever anger or frustration Astrid felt, it melted as Hiccup’s fingertips moved over her stomach. He was left handed, a thought that made her smile, because it meant everything he was doing, it was with the attention and sensitivity with which he did anything important. He outlined the ridges of her muscles, following each one down to the waist of her leggings, which were old, and loose on her hips. He followed those same curves up to her ribs, using the roughened tips of his fingers, the smooth flat of his palm, and a steady intense pressure to repeat each movement. It was like he was tracing her, learning her by touch, mapping her body with his hand. 

Astrid wanted to moan, to whisper to him, to make any sound to release the pressure building under her skin, but she had to bite back any indication that would alert Stormfly to what he was doing, what was happening to her, which only served to intensify what she was feeling. She knew he could feel the tension beneath his hand as she fought to stay quiet.

She settled for drawing in a slow, deep breath, and closing her eyes, tilting her face towards him. 

She understood, suddenly, why he’d put his prosthesis back on. He must have planned this, or thought about it enough ahead of time that he would be wary, partially watchful of anyone disturbing them — viking or Nadder. For a moment, she felt the dark sting of fury and frustration building, because she wanted his focus entirely on her, but it faded when she realized that someone had to be paying attention to Stormfly, and it wasn’t going to be her. 

Not if he kept that up.

Everything around her was warmth - his skin, the sunlight that reached them through the clouds of moisture in the air, his breath against her temple. The heat coalesced into the connection of his fingertips and her body and, she realized as she shifted again, in the increasingly hot ridge that pressed against her back. She was on fire between two points of intensity, and she didn’t want to move. 

“More, please.” 

She felt more than heard his short tremble of laughter, the movement and subtle sound sliding into her skin, joining the flooding war of the heated frustration and peaceful languidness that filled her body. His hand whispered over her, almost tickling her, then returned to the same spaces with a firmer, almost forceful touch. Then his hand slid up, and didn’t stop. 

She wasn’t wearing any bindings. He had to have known that, or so she thought, but when his hand brushed against her breast, he stilled. She arched her back slightly, reaching toward him. He seemed poised to withdraw, to move away, and she would have screamed in fury if he had. 

But she’d asked for more - politely, even, which was to her credit, she thought, given how irritable she’d been earlier. So his hand slid over her breast, cupping the curve of it, then kneading slightly, prompting her to shudder. She turned her face into his neck and breathed in the scent of him. 

“Do bindings hurt?” He whispered to her as his hand continued its exploration over her skin, as if he were reaching for the wrapped length of fabric that wasn’t there. 

“No,” she answered after swallowing twice. Her mouth had gone dry. “But it feels really great to take them off.”

He laughed softly, then slid his hand to her other breast, kneading, massaging, and exploring in a way that was both cautious and determined, that made her dissolve a little more inside. He moved from one to the other, learning the shape of her, the way she felt beneath his palm, the way his touch made her arch towards him. 

She wanted to do the same to him. She wanted to slide her hand back to find the heat of his erection, to explore it instead of feeling it press against the small of her back, to make him writhe inside while he had to hold still, the way he was doing to her. But when she moved her arm, she heard the sound of claws on stone again, and stopped. 

His hand stopped, too, the flat of his hand over her heartbeat, which seemed to be reaching for his touch as well. 

She drew a breath, then another, keeping time in a way that felt agonizingly slow. 

Astrid felt him turn his head, and then heard a quiet whisper, a breath of sound near her ear. 

“You can’t move.”

She shook her head.

“I can.”

His movements, the exploration of her body began again, and intensified. Now that she couldn’t touch him, she was almost at his mercy, unable to reciprocate the way she wanted. It was agony and wonder, and everything about her was fire. 

Then he pinched her nipple. She gasped and flinched, a fraction of movement. 

He froze. 

“Do that again,” she said on a low breath. He did. Harder. Not so much that it hurt, but enough that she brushed past the edge of pleasure into something even more powerful. Her breast filled his hand, each stroke amplifying the chaos inside her as he lightly pinched, then drew her nipple between his fingertips. 

He was going to kill her. Slowly. With one hand. 

She didn’t think she minded. 

“Again. More.”

He pinched, he teased, he stroked her, and the sensations that filled her body fell down inside her like the waterfall above their heads. She wanted to turn toward him, straddle his lap again so she could pull her shirt off, then his, and find out what it felt like to have his teeth, his lips and tongue do what his fingertips were doing now. 

She wanted to ride her body over his, to feel the edge of his teeth on her skin, the pressure of his hands on her hips. But she couldn’t. She had to remain still, concealing the torment inside her with slow breaths and clenched teeth, quiet gasps and whispered requests for more. Still more. 

Astrid began to rock her hips against him, partly for her own relief, and partly to share the agony. She could feel how hard he was, the hot length of him pressed next to her spine. She wanted more of that, too, the thick pressure, the chance to learn and explore all of him with her hands, the way he was driving her mad with only one of his. 

She hadn’t had much opportunity, and that knowledge, or lack thereof, was beyond frustrating. She knew he wasn’t indifferent to her - the opposite, in fact. She’d kissed him enough times, and felt his body pressed against hers to know she affected him. The other night, when she’d pushed him against a tree and had thought seriously for a moment about tying him to the trunk, she’d felt the evidence of his arousal like a brand against her stomach, but she’d been about to reach for him, to measure the hot length and breadth with her fingers when someone had caught his attention and they’d had to hurry away. 

In the forge, during the storm, she’d felt even more when he’d pressed her back against the wall as the lightning struck nearby. It was one of her favorite fantasies, late at night in her room, when she was frustrated, curious, and eager to imagine what might have happened. 

But only in her imagination had she touched him, explored with her hands what she’d felt with her stomach, her hip, or, like now, with her back. It wasn’t nearly enough. 

She wanted more, not just of his touch, but the opportunity to touch him. 

And they were alone - or allowed to be alone - so rarely now. If they weren’t being watched, Hiccup was being watchful. 

She scowled, clenching her jaw in fury. 

It wasn’t fair. 

She felt his breath against her ear, and then heard the low whisper of his voice. 

“Do you want me to stop?”

 


	13. Guided Exploration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonjour, mes amis! Once again, this next chapter is NSFW. Merci for all the kudos and comments!

Astrid's answering growl caused a terrifying relief to pour through his body, a mix of hot and cold, confusing and powerful.

“If you stop, I will rip your arm off.”

“Ok, then,” he said, tilting his head to peek at her expression. 

Her eyes were closed, her cheeks still red, only instead of the heated flush he’d seen earlier, her skin was a different shade, a lighter red that didn’t look like anger. He saw a flash of blue as her eyes opened, then narrowed as she glared at him. 

“You stopped.” 

She had no idea how difficult it was to think rationally while experiencing possibly the hottest, most consuming moment of his life, and she wanted his movements to be coordinated, too? 

He moved his hand over her right breast, which seemed more sensitive, and he drew out her nipple between his fingertips again, pulling and pinching gently. Her response was the same: she arched her back, pressing herself into his palm, while pushing her hips against his erection. It was impossible not to reply; their subtle individual movements became a conversation of heat and desire. He pinched her again, with slightly more force, and she drew in a low breath and pushed back against him, shifting her hips so that the firm valley of her spine and the soft curves of her back moved across his erection again and again. 

He leaned down to kiss her neck below her ear, and whispered. “You have to stop moving.”

“Nope. Can’t. Impossible.” Her reply followed the same uneven rhythm as his breathing, as his heartbeat. 

 He slid his palm over her stomach, then back to her breasts. Her staggered breath, the tension of her mouth, the movement of her hips and the way she reached for him with her body: it was a language he was learning, a set of signals he understood and knew what to do with. 

Behind him, Toothless let out a long, contented snore, completely asleep and utterly uninterested in anything but his nap. A black dragon on a scorching hot day resting in the shade of a waterfall could not be more happily oblivious. Meanwhile, Stormfly, who was just as inclined to nap, was trying her hardest to stay awake while not disturbing Toothless. 

Hiccup idly ran his fingertips along the curving softness of Astrid’s skin, feeling both the relaxation and the tension beneath grow. He had his leg on, so if he needed to move fast with little notice, he could. Of course, having it on meant he was partially aware of his surroundings, and unable to fixate his attention as much on what he was doing. 

But he still learned more with each movement.

If he pinched harder for a split second, an expression of shock and craving moved across her face, and if he did it again, she gasped. If he tempered that movement with gentleness, firmly moulding and stroking her skin, exploring the softness and the heat of her, the tension beneath remained. He was tracing and learning by touch, by sound, by her reaction, seeing what she liked, what she wanted. But what she meant by “more” was a mystery. 

He knew what “more” he wanted. He wanted more hours, more seclusion, more quiet spaces where no one was looking for either of them, and when no one noticed they were missing.He wanted a broad expanse of time without time being kept, where he could center his attention on everything he was doing. 

That wasn’t possible right then, and he wasn’t sure how far he could go, or how far he wanted to go. He had a mind that wouldn’t rest and unwind unless everything was perfectly set and there was nothing he needed to worry about, or attend to, or prepare for. 

Right then, Toothless was asleep - deeply asleep, given the depths of his snores - and Stormfly was watching them, her eyelids drooping farther each time she relaxed her attention. But he needed to watch her, listen for wings above them, and make sure Toothless was asleep, while his mind wanted to forget all of it and concentrate on only one thing. 

Astrid was concealed within his embrace for the most part, but he also couldn’t identify what he should do next, if he should continue to explore and risk upsetting Stormfly or waking Toothless, or if he should stop. 

He didn’t want to stop. He didn’t know what to do next.

Astrid whispered again, rubbing her cheek on the fabric of his shirt. “Please, more.”

“Tell me.” His request was quiet and honest. He wasn’t trying to tease her, not with words. His hand, well, that was a different matter.

She answered his question low indrawn breath. “Tell you what?” 

“Tell me more. I mean, tell me what more you want.”

“I want to turn around, face you, do to you what you’re doing to me.”

Hiccup breathed a quiet laugh and shook his head. “Can’t do that. We’d definitely have to stop then.” 

Astrid’s answer was a low snarl, frustrated that she couldn’t do what she wanted. He’d heard that sound before.

His hand still moved over her skin, but more slowly, trying to diminish the tension beneath his fingertips in the event they did have to disconnect from the torment they were both enjoying. 

Well, he was enjoying it. He wasn’t entirely sure about Astrid. “Do you want to stop?” 

Her answer was immediate. “No.”

So it wasn’t just him.  

Instead of speaking, she explained with movement of her own. She slid her hips away from him, and tilted her lower back, leaving her left leg out in front of her while bending her right leg to rest inside his. She reached for his hand, but her eyes were still closed. Only Hiccup saw that when her hand found his, she pulled his fingers slowly down her body, past her stomach, and beneath the loose and softened hem of her leggings. 

He swallowed, then breathed in slowly once, then twice. He needed to think clearly, to figure out what to do, but his mind was a spinning maelstrom of sensation. The fierce heat of her skin, the softness, the alternating hard and gentle curves, and then the liquid fire within her. She guided his hand, pressing his fingertips along folds of skin that were slick and tempting. 

A moment before, he’d learned enough to think a few breaths ahead, to plan what he might do next. Now, he was lost and unsure. She knew what to do, but he did not. He’d never touched her, felt the evidence of her desire the way she could so easily feel his when they were close. He wanted to explore, to look and see, and, Gods, to taste - but again, they couldn’t move. 

Not that much, anyway. 

He fought his way through the tangle of his own thoughts, trying to remember the pages that he’d looked at for hours, to recall what was explained so he could try to match the images to what he felt. At the same time, he was watching Astrid’s face, watching the minute changes of her expression to identify what she wanted more of, what she liked. His book had made it very clear to Hiccup that while men were relatively simple in sexual mechanics, women were much more complex. There were two pages of drawings about men, which Hiccup didn’t really need. 

For women, there were 8 pages of images, plus text, arrows and explanations in that language he couldn’t read. He could recall the drawings he’d studied in his mind, but not everything he felt corresponded to the flat images he remembered - at least, what he could reach without moving and alerting Stormfly. What he felt didn’t make a lot of sense to him at first.  

He did, however, have the language of Astrid’s expressions and reactions, in which he was slightly more fluent, but he could tell he wasn’t getting it right. The texture of her skin, the searing heat and incredibly slick softness within her was fascinating, but his approach wasn’t changing her expression and causing her to arch toward him like she had earlier. There was a furrow between her brows that he could see when he looked down at her face, which was turned toward his neck, away from Stormfly, away from the sun. Her body was more rigid than before, as if she were waiting, taut and tense, poised for attack or defense. She wasn’t a fluid rise and fall of breath and movement as she had been. Her breathing more even, her posture almost subdued. She seemed more frustrated than he was now. 

He much preferred the opposite, because the rush of wonder he felt at watching her body reach for his substantially eased his own torment. 

He didn’t know what to say, either. 

He probably couldn’t apologize: _I’m really sorry, but I haven’t studied enough_ wouldn’t explain anything. He chastised himself for a moment, that he hadn’t looked closely enough at the book, tried hard enough to translate the drawings that had such detail, all the labels he didn’t understand -

Then he had an idea. “Show me.”

“What?”

“Show me,” he lowered his voice, a whisper becoming almost a growl, his lips near her ear. “Show me what you like.”

She shuddered, then stilled, and he could tell she was at war with her own body’s demands that she react and move toward him, fighting desire against her awareness that she also needed to keep from alerting Stormfly. 

“Show me what you do to yourself. When you can’t sleep.” His voice was barely a breath of sound.

Her answer was a low gasp, rapid and uneven.  

“Use me. Use my hand.”  

With a slow, deep breath that filled her body and brought her closer to him, she nodded. 

“Show me what you want.”

Astrid slid the fingers of her right hand away from his, and rested her hand on her abdomen for a bare moment. She had been clutching his fingers around his in an odd but illuminating rhythm, and he worried for a second that he’d lost one of the guides he’d been relying upon that told him that what he was doing was working. 

Both of them stilled to listen for any reaction from Stormfly, neither one risking a glance to confirm that she hadn’t seen their slight change in position. Hiccup’s arm still rested over his bent knee, hiding them as much as he could, though his shirt sleeve was too short to provide a curtain. 

He realized his shirt was damp, and not from swimming. Her movements against him, the heat surrounding them and his own reaction had made his skin slick with sweat, and his shirt was stuck to him. He couldn’t risk pulling it away, but he forgot about the discomfort entirely when a stray thought flooded his mind. 

What would it be like to feel her skin against his? Would they slide against one another the way his fingers slid over her now? 

Probably. 

He closed his eyes and took several slow breaths, clenching then relaxing his right hand. He felt like his mind was boiling over, unable to hold a single thought for more than a moment.  

When silence, and not the sound of claws on stone, was the only response to the repositioning of Astrid’s arm, she moved her hand. Placing her right hand over his left, she lined up their fingers. Slowly, through her example, Hiccup began to understand more of what he touched but couldn’t see.

He felt the moment she took over, following a path that she knew intimately, but that he’d never traveled before. She guided him, placing her fingers over his, then around, showing him how to move across her skin, to dip into the heated pooling moisture and drag it over her, sliding and caressing repeatedly until their fingers could no longer hold still. Their fingertips pulled slick heat in a slow, sweeping circle, up and down, until the circle began to narrow, and he felt her subtly shift the pressure from a wider area to a specific ridge, a shifting peak that she’d stroke, then leave, then return to again. 

He knew enough to know what he felt, what she was showing him, and he wished repeatedly he could move, use more than just a portion of his senses to learn what she knew so easily. But that would be for another time. 

He whispered in her ear, his breathing low and uneven. “Is this what you do? At night?”

She nodded. His face was so close to hers, he felt more than saw her lips forming a slight smile.

“What do you think about?”

“Many things. Mostly you.” 

He nudged her with his bent leg. “Mostly?”

“Yeah. Mostly you. In a tree.” 

He laughed quietly, a breath of sound. “Surely there are better places than a tree.”

“Here is good,” she said, her words ending on a slow indrawn breath. 

She guided his fingers between her own, changing the fluid circular exploration into a tighter, more determined focus. Their fingertips rubbed and stroked her, closer and closer, small circles widening then tightening, then widening again. 

“I think about you,” he said, his voice an even lower whisper in her ear, his face burning that he’d admit this out loud to her. But his words had the effect he’d suspected they would. 

Her breathing had quickened, her chest rising and falling in an uneven, shallow rhythm. 

He continued, eyes closed. “I dreamed about you the other night.” 

“Yes. More.”

“Tell you more?”

Astrid nodded, her fingers laced tightly with his, guiding them together over and down and up, moving in rhythm in tight circles, then long, slow slides down and up. 

Hiccup could barely recall what he’d been saying. “I don’t remember much, but we were in the woods.”

“See? Trees.” 

He laughed softly.

Then the low rasp of Astrid’s whisper reached his ears and stopped his breath. “I think about the storm, in the forge.”

 


	14. Next Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alors, this chapter too is NSFW, ok?

He stilled, heat surging inside him, his mouth going dry. “I…”

“I think about it. The storm. The lightning. All the time.”

He thought he was the only one who still wondered about that night, about what might have happened.“So do I.”

His answer sent a tremor through her body, her back arching then curling inward. Her whisper became a growl. “You were undressing me. If we hadn’t been-“

“Interrupted?”

“Yeah. Stupid vikings.”

Hiccup pressed his lips together to hold in his laughter. 

“I wanted you… I wanted you to….”

The laughter vanished, like it had never been, and his lips found her ear. He spoke on low breaths, feeling her tremble. “What? You wanted me to what?”

“I wanted…

Her words dissolved into uneven breathing, a rhythm that was outpaced by his heartbeat, and by the rapid, focused moment of his fingers beneath hers. “Yes?”

“Up against the wall.”

Hiccup was stunned. “Really?”

“Yes - I think about it…all the-“

She pressed against the edge of his index and middle finger, where the callouses were thicker, over and over, her hips subtly rocking into their hands with each thrust. 

“Against the wall, in the forge?” 

“Yes….” Her voice was a whisper and a moan combined, a low sound he didn’t think he’d ever forget. 

Hiccup, because that was how his mind worked, immediately began calculating the possibilities: which wall, how he’d stand, where she would be, what it would feel like. 

Without thinking first, he whispered, “I’d have to press you pretty hard against the wall -”

Astrid’s body twisted, her hand moving his tightly against that slippery ridge, the intensity making her gasp. 

He was pretty sure he was reading her movements correctly, so he spoke again, low in her ear, the sound only existing in the infinitesimal space between them. “Hold you still, completely still.”

Her fingers tightened around his, her movements a jagged stutter of pressure. 

“You’d have to be quiet, so no one would hear us.”

Her breath gasped in once, then held in taut silence. 

“You wouldn’t be able to move.”

She was roiling torment within fragile stillness, her body tense, her heartbeat so powerful he could feel it against his chest like the thunder of the falls above them.

“I’d have to pin your arms above your head….”

Her mouth opened slightly.

“Press your body against the wood….”

A soft, ragged gasp was her only reply.

“And take you.”

Her back arched, her fingers tightened around his almost painfully, and she pressed her lips together before gasping, breath rushing as if she’d just run to the top of the mountain and jumped off the summit into cold air. Her body curled in, then arched again. “Oh, _Gods_ ….”

Hiccup didn’t want to blink or or breathe or miss any part of what was happening. His own desire and arousal a distant second to the shock and incredulity of watching Astrid, of learning the subtle rhythm that brought her to orgasm, feeling that same rhythm continuing within her body as she arched and then relaxed against him repeatedly. 

It was amazing. He wanted to do it again. 

Right then. 

Immediately. 

But he didn’t move. He knew that he was incredibly sensitive… afterward, and wasn’t sure if the same was true for her. 

After a short while, her breath slowed. 

Astrid squeezed his hand, their fingers sticky and slick, and brought his hand with hers to rest across her stomach. She turned her face so her forehead rested against his neck and sighed deeply. 

“I’m going to get you for that,” she whispered. 

Hiccup laughed softly. 

“I’m not kidding.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” He watched her chest rise and fall, and felt the mist cover them both behind a soft, cool breeze.

Then, Stormfly stood up, spread her wings, and squawked .

“Ugh, my chaperone has decided we’ve been lazy for long enough.”

Hiccup wouldn’t call it being lazy, given how much his mind spun with images and information, and how much of his body was tense and aching. But Astrid was right, and so was Stormfly. They’d been gone long enough that someone may have noticed their combined absence.

Stormfly’s continued squawks and the rustle of her quills woke Toothless, who growled at her as he lifted his head. Stormfly didn’t accept any of Toothless’ grumbling, and chattered at him, sounding very annoyed. 

Toothless, unimpressed, turned his head to look at Hiccup, who was still leaning against Toothless’ side, just as Hiccup glanced over his shoulder at his dragon. 

“Hey, Bud,” Hiccup said, letting him know all was well. Toothless’ eyes narrowed, and he purred low in his throat at Hiccup. 

Then Toothless lifted and swung his tail around Hiccup and Astrid, so quickly that Hiccup had to bend his leg to pull the prosthesis away. Hiccup was confused for a moment, but understood the instant Toothless rested his tail on the ground, turned it, and extended his remaining fin into the air, fully hiding Hiccup and Astrid from Stormfly. Toothless then stretched his wings up and out, then lowered them slowly, causing a dark, private shadow to fall over them both. 

Neither of them wasted the opportunity. Hiccup sat up, away from Toothless, as Astrid turned and straddled his lap, the wicked heat of her body meeting the aching hardness of his erection as she reached for his shoulders and kissed him deeply, her hands sliding in his hair, her mouth burning his. 

For a few seconds, Hiccup thought his skin might have truly caught on fire. His hands curved over Astrid’s hips, a familiar path he’d followed before, but this time, he pressed her body down onto his, causing a tighter and more intense pressure than he’d never experienced before. 

Astrid was sensitive, or so it seemed, because she gasped then moaned softly into his mouth, a sound he wanted to taste as much as he wanted to taste every part of her. She slid against him, riding his body the way she’d said she wanted to, but Hiccup knew he wouldn’t be able to orgasm in the moment they had. Stormfly was likely to scream any second, and he was too aware of everything surrounding them to ignore it, despite the heat that burned between them. 

Toothless agreed, rumbling a warning that he’d hidden them long enough. 

Hiccup moved his hands, sliding them up over Astrid’s sides, the tips of his thumbs following the contours of her breasts before he framed her face, his hold gentle and careful. He knew how strong she was, how fierce her determination and how much she’d endured, how much she could handle. He probably knew better than anyone. 

But the scorching exploration between them, the surging heat they experienced together that rose and fell like an unpredictable tide, that was fragile, and he treated her accordingly, not knowing if she liked it or even noticed, but unable to do otherwise. 

“Time to go?” Her whisper blew softly across his lips, and he opened his eyes to see her looking at him, her gaze a little sad. 

“Looks like it.”

She brushed a quick kiss against his lips, one that was somehow both ferocious and tender. 

“I _will_ get you for that.”

“I _will_ look forward to it.”

She smiled as she sat back away from him, shifting her weight to one side and sliding off his lap as Toothless lifted his wings, daylight filling the private space they’d held so briefly. Astrid stood and, reaching down, pulled Hiccup up beside her, holding his hand as she slid her arm around him and rested her chin on his shoulder. She looked relaxed and joyful, and he wanted to memorize the way she smiled up at him, a smile that was both familiar and new. 

Next to them, Toothless stood up, stretching his legs out in front of him, bowing and yawning, wings high. Then he shook himself and wandered over to the pool for a drink. Astrid straightened her clothing and ran a hand over her braid, then knelt next to Toothless to splash water on her face and neck. Hiccup heard her talking to Toothless in a quiet but happy murmur. 

Stormfly watched Hiccup warily when he turned and slowly walked toward her. He kept his hands at his sides, and followed the movement of her quills and her head carefully. She didn’t look agitated or aggressive, but she wasn’t relaxed, either. 

Hiccup tried to keep his voice quiet, but firm. “Hey, Stormfly. What’s going on? What’s wrong?” 

She answered with a rattle and rustle of her quills, and cocked her head to watch him with one eye. 

When he was close enough, Hiccup lifted his right hand to touch her nose, allowing her to close the small distance in greeting. A moment later, Stormfly’s eyes narrowed and she visibly relaxed. Hiccup was unsure of the reason until he felt Astrid’s arms slide around him from behind. 

“Hey, girl. No need to worry.” Astrid’s voice was gentle and kind, suffused with so much warm affection that Hiccup’s cheeks began to burn, even though she wasn’t talking to him. Astrid moved to Hiccup’s side and rested her head on his shoulder. Keeping one arm around him, she reached out to touch Stormfly’s nose, placing her left hand alongside Hiccup’s before sliding her fingers to cover his hand with her own. “This is ok, see?”

Stormfly closed her eyes and nuzzled against their joined hands, chirping and settling her wings around her in contentment. 

Hiccup didn’t move, allowing Astrid to communicate with Stormfly in the way she thought best. Her instincts with her Nadder were rarely incorrect. “Think she’ll keep pulling you away from me? And Fishlegs?” 

Astrid snorted. “I hope not. There’s not enough chicken in the world to distract her every time I go near you, or anyone else.” 

“We could find another way to un-train her,” Hiccup said thoughtfully.

“Sure. I’ll toss you into the sea and she can fish you out. Repeatedly. It worked for me.” 

Hiccup laughed as he slid his arm slowly around her to pull her closer, then turned his head to drop a kiss on her hair.

Astrid sighed, then looked up at the sun, which hadn’t changed position much in the sky, but enough to let them know some time had passed. “Time to go,” Astrid said, her arm tightening around him for a moment.

“Yeah. Back to work.”

“I know my mother will be looking for me.” 

Hiccup frowned. “Want me to wait here awhile? I have to put Toothless’ tail back on, so we’ll be here for a bit, but I can take my time if you need.”

Astrid dropped her arm and turned to face him, a determined expression and a very clever smile on her face. “No, I have a strategy.” 

“Of course you do.” 

Astrid paced and began explaining her plan, talking with her hands and arms as she usually did. Hiccup crossed to stand next to Stormfly, one hand on her saddle. He made sure Astrid’s back was turned, then moved closer to and then away from her saddlebag. Astrid was sketching out a map of Berk with her hands in the air in front of her, but since he knew Berk from above as well as she did, he watched her hands, the movement of her arms, the curves of her body, and the droplets of water in her hair catching the sunlight. 

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Every word.”

She gave him a skeptical look, then continued. “So we’re here.” She punctuated their location with one hand, then illustrated two flight paths with the other. “I fly home straight through the mountain pass. You and Toothless can go in the other direction, away from Berk, then cross through the low tunnels, exit over the sea, and come in from the water. We’ll end up arriving from opposite directions.”

“I don’t know. Toothless is fast, and so is Stormfly. We could easily have been together for hours despite flying home from different places. It’s not like we have Gronkles. I’m not sure how long two routes home will fool people.”

Astrid smiled at him over her shoulder, the curve of her lips wicked and hinting at many unspoken ideas. “It’ll work for now.” 

Hiccup moved closer so she had to tip her head back a little to see his face when she turned around. So many years of being shorter than Astrid meant that when he saw how much taller he was now, it was still a little bit of a novelty. And he enjoyed it, not that he’d ever say that out loud. “You have other plans?” 

“Of course I do.”

“Care to share them?”

“At some point. When it’s time.”

His next words would have been harsh except for his relaxed, wry smile and the laughter that warmed his voice. “Is this some kind of a joke to you?”  

Astrid wrapped her arms around him for a moment, leaned in, and kissed him briefly. “Never. I take this very seriously.” 

He laughed and ran one hand over her braid as her arms tightened, then released him. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yep. Sparring after lunch as usual?” 

He nodded. “You know the meadow past the springs, other side of the pine forest?”

“I know exactly where you’ve been sparring,” Astrid replied as she walked over to Stormfly, who hadn’t made a noise of any kind when Astrid had her arms around Hiccup. 

In one leap, Astrid jumped onto her saddle, and Stormfly took off, jumping off the rock straight into the air. They flew high and fast, turning toward Berk, until Stormfly shifted suddenly and flew back towards Hiccup. 

Astrid stood up in her saddle, arms out. Stormfly turned at the last second as Astrid leapt off the saddle, landing on the stone in front of Hiccup and running into his arms. 

“Forget something?” Hiccup’s heart was pounding, amazed and terrified by what Astrid could do, and by the fact that she so often ran towards him.

“Yes,” she said, crashing into him but not with so much force that she knocked him down. She reached up with one hand and brought his mouth to hers, a searing, open mouthed kiss that made his heart race even faster. 

She pulled away and looked up at him, exhilaration and delight clear on her face. “Thank you.” 

He grinned back at her, his heart molten in his chest with equal joy. “Any time.”

“See you tomorrow.” She jumped out of his embrace and ran full speed toward the edge of the rocks, leaping into the air when they dropped away toward the ground below. With perfect accuracy, Stormfly plucked her out of the air and tossed her toward the sky. With an exuberant battle cry, Astrid landed in the saddle, and within a few breaths, she was out of sight. 

Toothless bumped Hiccup from behind, then slid his head beneath Hiccup’s arm. “Ready to go?” 

Toothless grunted in reply, and Hiccup began the complex but familiar process of strapping Toothless’ tail fin mechanism onto his body. By the time Hiccup was finished, and satisfied that it worked correctly, Toothless was impatient to be in the air already. 

They flew off in the opposite direction, as Astrid had suggested, and though part of him was tense and unsatisfied, Hiccup relaxed as the rush of air and the knowledge of what he’d done made him smile into the clouds. 

“Come on, Bud. Let’s do some more exploring before we head home.” 

 


	15. Chapter 15

Astrid landed on Berk next to the stables, and jumped off Stormfly’s back with a happy sigh. She felt like the inside of her mind had been scoured with sand from the hot springs, removing any traces of bad mood and surliness and leaving only a relaxed, contented peace. 

She had Hiccup to thank for that, she supposed, and felt her face begin to burn as her thoughts followed and then rapidly embellished her memory. 

She shook her head firmly. Couldn’t think about that. 

Maybe later.

Definitely later.

After serving Stormfly a massive basket of fish and making sure to stroke her quills and wings, thanking her for being as wonderful as she was, Astrid turned to leave.

She was immediately yanked back into the storage alcove.

Stormfly didn’t look up from her dinner, in part because Astrid didn’t make a sound. She couldn’t. A large, heavy, calloused hand had covered her nose and mouth while another hand gripped her upper arm and pulled her backwards into the shadows. 

Astrid tensed, her muscles tightening, awareness of everything around her raising the hair on her arms, making the back of her neck tingle. Her axe wasn’t within reach. Stormfly couldn’t be alerted. This person was bigger, and in this position, stronger.

She just needed a moment, a loosening of her captor’s grip for a second so she could turn, grab her knives and attack. So she obeyed the pull of whomever it was that had grabbed her, allowing them to pull her deeper into the shadows. 

Then a low and vexed voice sounded in her ear, fully of annoyance. “Oh, Astrid, lass. What are ye about, heading into the square with your hair like that? Do ye want your mother to hear about it?”

_Sigrid?_

When the hand over her mouth pulled away, Astrid tried to spin around, drawing breath to yell at her aunt, but she stopped on a high squeak of pain, which Stormfly did hear. Stormfly flapped her wings and began to tense all the barbs along her tail as she tried to identify the threat to Astrid. 

Sigrid stuck her head around the corner, into the light. “Oh, hush up, dragon, I’m not about to hurt Astrid. Go on with yer meal.” 

Astrid tried to step away, but couldn’t. Sigrid had grabbed Astrid’s braid in her hands and was pulling her back into the dark corner of the supply room by her hair. Which _hurt_.

“Sigrid! Ouch! Stop!”

Sigrid was not interested in hearing anything Astrid had to say. “You listen and you listen well, missy. Your mother is on a right tear, thinking you’re up to something, and given the state of you right now, she’ll likely know what you’ve been doing.” 

Strong hands pushed Astrid into a chair and stronger fingers pulled the tie from her hair. “Yer lucky, you are, that I thought to wait for you here.”

“So you could yank my arm off and pull my hair? _Ouch_ , Sigrid. Ease up!”

Sigrid dismissed that request with a long snort. “Got your kransen on at least, I see. Thank Odin for small favors.”

If her cheeks weren’t red before, they were burning like the yule bonfire now. “Sigrid!”

“Don’t you ' _Sigrid'_ me, Astrid. I’m on your side.”

“Hard to tell since you’re pulling my hair out.”

Sigrid gave a sharp tug and a sharper smack to Astrid’s shoulder. “Aye, you listen up. Your mother’s not pleased with your long absence, not after you flew around Berk near naked like you did.”

“Ouch! Sigrid - ow! I wasn’t naked!”

“Near enough, and more than enough to set her off. Now she’s been watching for yer dragon, waiting to see you home, lass, so you can bet you’ll be hearing from her for awhile this evening.”

Astrid’s shoulders slumped, and she felt the impending embarrassment and anger like a burn that started inside and spread outward, covering her entirely. She had no reply to Sigrid. She clenched her jaw and stared at the leather studs on her skirt. 

Sigrid’s hands were brisk, pulling the coils of her braid loose. Then she removed Astrid’s kransen and handed it to her, nearly dropping it in her lap. 

Astrid felt like she was 8 years old, with Sigrid’s hands trying to tame her hair while she played with her leather circlet. The metal studs were in the same places, but her fingertips traced over them one by one, checking that each embedded disk was still tight against the leather. The band itself was smooth and soft after so many years, but her fingers ran over the border, checking for ragged or frayed edges. 

Sigrid had made it for her; she’d made all the others that Astrid had worn as she grew up. And as Sigrid unwound her hair slowly, her hands gentling their movements, Astrid’s growing embarrassment melted a little under the kind touch of her aunt, who had always braided her hair, who had taught her how to braid it herself. The touch of her fingers, the tugging and plaiting, the rhythm of Sigrid’s hands was deeply familiar, and Astrid remembered dark nights before the fire, her toes tucked under her nightdress, listening to Sigrid, her mother, Mornen, and sometimes silent Gothi, tapping her staff while the others were arguing and talking, filling their small home with voices and sounds. Someone was always cooking dinner or mixing herbs and potions, and Astrid could recall instantly, even amid the more unpleasant scents of the stables, the warm and welcoming smells that filled their house. All of the women in her family were involved in caring for their home and for Astrid, their arguments and affection mixed in equal measure. 

Sigrid spread Astrid’s hair over her shoulders, the long strands reaching past her waist, some covering her hands as they rested on her lap. She toyed with the ends, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. 

“Is she really angry?”

“Your mother? She’s not full angry, no. But she’s not happy, either.”

Astrid stared at the studs on her skirt again, trying to think of what she could say to explain her absence that wouldn’t give her mother the chance to ask more questions. She was awful and sharp like that, listening to what you said then finding the hole in moments, asking questions that undid any attempts at deception with precision, identical to the skill with which she found weaknesses in an opponent’s battle defense. Astrid had learned many of her own fighting skills from her mother, but had never had her ability to take an argument and shred it with one sharpened question. 

“Ah, don’t you worry. I have a plan.”

“You have a plan?”

“Aye.”

“You’re going to… give her some herbs her so she sleeps for awhile? A week, maybe?”

Astrid heard Sigrid try to cover a laugh, then felt her hand tap her on the shoulder. “None of that, no.”

“So what’s your plan?”

“Were you with Hiccup?”

Astrid didn’t know what to say. If she admitted that she had been, would Sigrid tell her mother? She knew she couldn’t lie or prevaricate, pretend she hadn’t been with him for as long as she had, or attempt to give a half answer. Sigrid would know. 

In the end, she decided on the truth, and was inwardly very pleased that her voice was calm, that the one word she said didn’t shake. “Yes.” 

“Mmm.” Sigrid sounded both confident and pleased. “I figured ye had been. So what were you planning to say, then?”

“I hadn’t thought about it.”

“No?”

“I didn’t know she’d been looking for me.”

“After she lit her temper at you for flying around mostly naked, you didn’t think she’d be awaiting your return? After more than one hour gone, and you off on a dragon?”

“I should have expected that, huh?”

“Aye.”

Astrid swallowed a weak, tempting argument that popped into her mind, but would have accomplished nothing. “You said you had a plan?”

“Aye.”

Astrid felt Sigrid wrapping and twisting her hair into a large braid down her back, so she pulled the strands she’d been holding forward and began braiding them into a plait to be added to the main coil. Sigrid didn’t elaborate, and Astrid knew she couldn’t be forced to say anything before she was ready. In the cool darkness of the storage area, Astrid tried to remain calm, to hold on to that blissful relaxed feeling she’d had a moment before. She found some comfort in the strength of her aunt’s fingers, in the firm but familiar tugging on her scalp. 

Reaching forward, Sigrid took the smaller braid from Astrid’s waiting hand, and pulled it back. Then she finished rebraiding Astrid’s hair, hiding the fact that a short time earlier, Hiccup had unwound everything inside her. On the outside, Astrid would appear as she always did, though inside, she had a lot of moments, and knowledge, and frustrations, to think about.

“There.” Sigrid ran her hand along the back of Astrid’s head, then reached forward for her kransen. 

“I’ve got it.” Pushing her bangs out of the way, she placed the leather circlet over her head, then turned to Sigrid. “Do I look presentable?”

“Better than that,” Sigrid replied, looking very pleased with herself. 

“So, you said you had a plan?”

“Aye. Hold out your hand.”

When she lifted her palm, Sigrid dropped a dirty rag and a spoon into it. “What’s this?”

“Cooking lessons.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

Not this again. Dread, cold and thick, pooled in Astrid’s stomach. “I thought…I thought you’d given up on teaching me to cook.”

“Aye. I did.”

Astrid stared at her aunt, confused. 

“But yer mother, she doesn’t know that.”

Love and relief flooded Astrid as Sigrid’s smile turned wicked and knowing. Astrid reached forward and hugged her aunt tightly. “Thank you.”

“Aye, think nothing of it. But remember to find me some afternoons so I can tell you what you got wrong that day.”

“Wrong?”

“Aye. Our stories have to match, after all. Wouldn’t do to have you volunteering to cook a wedding feast by yourself based on my excellent teaching.” 

“I would _never_.”

“Aye,” Sigrid said with a fond smile, pushing Astrid’s bangs away from her face. “I know.” 

Then Sigrid stepped away briskly, looking around the doorpost to see if anyone was near the stable entrance. 

“I’ll go back first. You follow in a bit.”

“I should clean up after Stormfly now that she's eaten, but I’ll be home in a little.”

“Good. She’ll still be steaming like the hot springs, but it’ll look to me and to her like you haven’t been up to anything much.”

Astrid nodded.

“But, Astrid, lass….”

Astrid had already turned toward Stormfly’s bed, but she looked over her shoulder and raised her brows.

“It was plain and clear when you landed that you’d been up to something.”

Her face burned. Her neck and chest and even her hands felt like they were catching on fire.  Sigrid noticed, and nodded. Was it Astrid’s imagination, or did she look…proud? Her voice gave away nothing, but the expression on Sigrid’s face was familiar, almost the same as the one she wore the single time Astrid had managed not to burn something during a lesson. 

“See you at home.” Astrid was again relieved that she managed to keep her voice steady. 

“Aye.”  

Sigrid strode quickly out of the stables, but instead of hurrying, Astrid slowly made her way back to Stormfly’s nest. Her scarf, the one Stormfly had stolen off her neck one winter years before, was wrapped around some of the straw, and her dragon was seated next to it, grooming herself. The food basin was empty, so Astrid washed it, then leaned it against the stone wall to dry. 

“Stormfly, I think I’d rather deal with you than my mother now.”

Stormfly chirped as she watched Astrid move closer with one eye, tilting her head and blinking to keep Astrid in sight. Then she lifted her wing and pushed Astrid closer to her saddle, which remained on Stormfly's back.

“What? No, girl, I wish I could go fly again. But you just ate, and my mother’s expecting me.”

Stormfly didn’t move her wing. Instead, she extended it, trying to keep Astrid against her side.

“No, really, girl. I can’t. I wish I could.”

With a frustrated-sounding growl, Stormfly shoved her again, more forcefully this time, enough that Astrid lost her balance and fell against her saddle.

“What the - Stormfly, what are you doing?” Astrid felt herself growing angry, that yet again Stormfly was pushing her around, that yet another female trying to force her to do what they wanted. But when she put her hand on her saddlebag, she heard something rustle inside. 

“What’s in here?”

Astrid wasn’t sure, but she was pretty certain Stormfly had rolled her eyes before she looked away. Great, Astrid thought to herself. Dragon sass. 

She opened her saddle bag, the one she used for long or overnight trips. It shouldn't have had anything in it, but there was a folded piece of paper, torn on one side. When she saw it, her heart sped up, and she instinctively looked to see if anyone was around, in the stables or just landing outside. 

Only one person gave her anything on paper. 

Astrid waited, listening, making sure she was alone, then she reached in and pulled the folded paper out, pressing it against her body as she looked again over her shoulder to make sure no one had come into the stables. 

Then she walked around Stormfly so she stood on the far side of her dragon, with Stormfly’s body and wings between her and the door. It was a small portion of privacy, given how busy the stables were at the end of the day, but it was better than what she’d find at home, or anywhere else on Berk. And she wanted to be alone before she lifted the fold to see what was inside. 

Paper was so precious, so expensive. The fact that Hiccup had so much of it was an indication of his position in the tribe as the chief’s son, and also of his priorities. He didn’t spend much on weapons or jewels or even food when traders came, unless he purchased something for her. But paper…. Every trader who dealt with Berk knew that they’d find a customer eager for paper and ink, and able to purchase a lot of it, if Hiccup was around when their ship docked in the harbor. He didn’t treat his paper as if it were a frivolous purchase, either, and often reused sheets over and over, drawing on the front and the back, and sketching additional ideas and notes in the margins. 

This page had nothing on the back. It was entirely blank, folded corner to corner, and creased diagonally from the trip hidden inside her saddlebag. She felt a spear of guilt that she’d ruined the smoothness, even though she hadn’t known it was in there. 

After checking once more to make sure she was alone, and not about to be disturbed, she lifted the fold. 

At first, she didn’t know what she was looking at. It was a weird sort of line, rounded on two sides, with shading falling away from it. Was it a hill, or a path through two mountains? 

She looked again. Was he trying to tell her to meet him somewhere? He’d been better off drawing a map. She knew how to read those much better than…whatever this was. 

Astrid tilted her head, unconsciously echoing Stormfly’s movements, and turned the paper in her hand. 

Then she gasped. 

It was her. 

Her back, specifically. 

He’d drawn the curve of her back, probably when she’d been flying on Stormfly after jumping into the water and being fished out that afternoon. Her shirt was barely there, just a few lines that showed how her shirt had stuck to her skin. Beneath it, shaded haphazardly yet so clear, her spine curved from her shoulder to her waist. There was a hint of her braid flying in the wind, the shadow of her arm on one side. But the center of the drawing was a part of her body she’d never seen, and now saw through Hiccup’s eyes, through his drawing of what he saw when he looked at her. 

She hadn’t realized her spine could look so… erotic. And she knew that he if drew pictures of her, he usually burned them if he didn’t like them, or if he didn’t want anyone to see. 

This one, he’d hidden and given to her. 

Her cheeks were flushed, and she felt heat like sparks from a woodfire collecting in her belly. He’d drawn her body, the curve and strength of it, so clearly she could almost touch it, follow the lines and expect them to be three-dimensional. But she didn’t dare bring her fingertips near the paper. She’d smudge the charcoal. 

She glanced up again, then peered closely at the drawing, allowing herself one long look before folding it away and hiding it in the small satchel attached to her belt. 

She had to find a place to hide this, one her family would never think to look in, or accidentally discover, because she had no intention of burning it so no one would see. She wanted to look again, later. And more after that. 

Plus, she thought as she headed home beneath a high sun in a summer evening sky, she had two reasons now to plot a pleasant revenge on Hiccup. 

She smiled. Sparring tomorrow was going to be a terrible amount of fun. 


	16. New Signs

Hiccup faced a long morning after a longer, overheated sleepless night. The heat still embraced Berk, like one of the gods had encircled the island, refusing to let the wind blow the warm air away, or mix cool air with the thick stillness to allow relief. It was hot, everyone was sweaty and tired, and life went on, albeit more grumpily. There was still plenty to do. 

There were patrols, and lessons, flight time and more patrols, then a council meeting called by his father to discuss what more they could do to keep everyone as safe as possible. It was so hot during the day that the older villagers, even Gothi, were sleeping for hours, only waking up briefly when the sun made a benign gesture at the horizon. There was no chance of it setting for weeks yet. Once again Hiccup’s knowledge of dragons was helpful, though it took him a few minutes to think of a diplomatic way to say what had occurred to him, since he didn’t think Gothi or anyone else would like being compared to a sleeping dragon. 

“If they sleep during the warmest part of the day, and they aren’t ill or confused when they wake up, I don’t think we need to worry. The dragons have been doing that for over a week, and are more active after dinner, when it’s a little cooler.”

“Aye,” Hoark said from the far end the long table. The great hall smelled of mead, of sweat and fish, and it was too hot for that many people to be inside it. Even though it was carved out of the mountain and usually the coolest place to gather, the warmth outside seemed to have baked into the stone walls, heating the room from within. So Hoark spoke quickly. “I don’t think we need to fret about it. My da has been sleeping most afternoons, but he wakes up for his drink quick enough.”

The other vikings in the room laughed, nodding their heads, some preparing to stand up to go, thinking the meeting was over. Stoick’s voice froze them in place. 

“Right then. That’s settled. One last thing: fires. It’s hot, and there hasn’t been rain in awhile, so keep eyes on the horizon for any traces of smoke. No campfires in the woods, and no cook fires unattended, especially now. Spread the word.”

Then, with a single nod, Stoick dismissed the council. Hiccup hadn’t undone his flight suit, so he was sweaty and eager to leave, but he couldn’t push his way through the slow moving viking crowd heading for the door, no matter how much he wanted to. Thus Stoick caught him as he turned to go.

“Hiccup.”

There were many ways Stoick could say his son’s name. It used to be most often filled with outrage and anger, sometimes disbelief, but not so much anymore. Their relationship had balanced itself better, and Hiccup more frequently felt that his father actually heard what he said, and more importantly listened. They hadn’t yelled at each other in a long time - so the stern rumble in his father’s voice stopped him. 

“Dad?”

“Where are you off to.” It wasn’t  a question. He was asking in statement, as if he already knew the answer, and wanted Hiccup to confess — a familiar tactic Hiccup had heard used all too often in years past. _Where did you get the catapult. Why are the houses on fire._

Hiccup swallowed down the outraged rebellion that led him too frequently to speak first and think later. He hadn’t done anything egregiously wrong in a long time, nor had the two of them had a conversation that left both of them confused and awkward around one another. There’d been a few talks lately that ended with Hiccup angry or annoyed at his father, but not many.

Hiccup looked up at his father, observing before answering. Stoick looked tired. More than tired. He looked rumpled with exhaustion, with bags under his eyes, which weren’t entirely open. His beard wasn’t as neatly braided, and much of his hair was stuck to the back of his neck in dark red slashes that trailed down his back. When the light changed as Stoick moved closer, Hiccup could see whorls of white salt on the leather of his tunic. Had he not been home to change? 

Remembering that his father expected an answer, Hiccup cleared his throat. “Oh, um, yeah. Well, I have to, uh, head over to the academy, check on everyone there. And then, uh, battle practice, I think.”

“Tuffnut?”

Hiccup poised on the edge of a decision: to lie or tell the truth, and therefore invite a longer, more frustrating conversation. In the end, he stayed on that edge and tried not to make either choice. 

“I think, though he may have things to do.”

“Mmmmm.” 

“Yeah, so, I, uh, better… better go, then.”

“Hiccup.”

Again with the statements that could have been questions but weren’t. Clearly Stoick was fishing for something. Hiccup blinked, inwardly cursing himself. He should have just gone with the truth. “Yeah, dad?”

“I saw Astrid. Heading into the woods.”

“O…k?”

“Are you sparring with her?”

Well, as far as questions went about what he may or may not be doing with Astrid, Hiccup thought, that was one he could answer and not turn instantly, deeply red like he’d been out in the sun too long. “Oh, um, yeah - Tuff said he thought we should practice close combat as well as staves.” 

“Mmmhmm.” 

Not for the first time, Hiccup thought about hollering at his father to just speak already. But no, the same technique had worked for Stoick for far too long: big guy, folded arms, deep voice, red hair, add angry glare and rumbling growl as needed, and whoosh, out came the confessions and apologies. It worked on Hiccup, too, most of the time. 

Stoick didn’t elaborate, so Hiccup turned to leave. “So, uh, I better be-“

“Hiccup. You know your responsibilities.” 

 _Oh, not this again._ Hiccup swallowed another angry reply that rose too quickly, and took a breath. 

Then he turned around and looked his father in the eye, something that was a lot easier now that he was taller. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to look down on his dad, but he was catching up. His voice was calm when he spoke. “What do you mean?”

Stoick’s eyes widened, and if Hiccup wasn’t mistaken, he paled a little, too. Then he glared, probably compensating for the momentary shock. “Hiccup.”

“Dad.” Hiccup counted slowly in his mind, his face open and guileless, keeping his hands relaxed in front of him, knowing his father looked for him to make a fist or curl his fingers around a pencil in frustration. It was a signal that Hiccup was angry, and he fought to hide it. 

But he wasn’t angry, he realized. He was annoyed to be detained by a conversation where his father only said one word at a time, but he wasn’t mad. If anything, Stoick looked frustrated that Hiccup had questioned _him._  He took a step closer to Hiccup and rubbed his hands together. 

That wasn’t a good sign. Stoick rubbing his hands together meant he had to do something that he didn’t want to do, or wasn’t comfortable with. 

“You know your responsibilities. With Astrid.”

“Dad, I don’t-“

“Hiccup. This isn’t funny.”

Hiccup stood a little straighter, and glared for a moment, the sting of his father’s words pushing his temper. “I’m not laughing.”

“You know the consequences.”

“The consequences.” Hiccup furiously kept his mind thinking of fighting, of sparring, flying or battle, and not at all anywhere near the terribly vivid memories of what they’d been doing the day before. 

“This isn’t a joke, son.”

“Dad. I don’t know what you’re-“

“Yes, you do.” 

Hiccup stared, freezing his face in what he hoped was a glare, and not a look of shock or fear. Had someone seen them? Had someone seen her? Was she ok? Had her mother gone to Stoick? She couldn’t have - all of Berk would have heard, and Stoick would be injured. He didn’t appear to be limping, and there were no visible bruises. 

So Hiccup gambled, something he did with greater ease where his father was concerned. “Dad. You know she can kill me. We’re sparring. She’s probably going to break at least two of my bones within the hour.”

Stoick held Hiccup’s gaze for a long, painful moment. Hiccup could feel sweat trickling down his back, and fought to keep his expression neutral, to not clench his fingers or betray himself. 

Then Stoick turned away with a chuckle that sounded so false, so forced, it broke the surface tension between them and created more beneath. “Aye, that’s probably true.”

Hiccup grabbed his chance and started walking toward the door, forgetting that his father could easily keep up with him. Where was Toothless so they could fly out of there? Probably napping again, given how hot it was. 

The light was blinding when they stepped out the doors of Meade Hall, with a heat so powerful, they both took a half-step back, like the sun had pushed them.

“See you later, Dad,” Hiccup said, turning toward their home so he could get his staff and leave some of his flight armor in his room. 

“Hiccup?”

Hiccup turned, surprised. An actual question of his name. 

“Yeah, dad?

His father smiled, a confusing but honest blend of pride, suspicion, and knowing mixed in his expression. “Good luck.”

 

…

 

When he arrived a short while later, Astrid was waiting. She was seated on the edge of a rock in the shade that edged the meadow, sharpening her axe, one leg swinging from beneath her.

Hiccup’s first thought, right after the familiar tightening in his chest that happened every time he saw her, was that she looked beautiful. Then he wondered if she would look at him differently, if she would act differently - or if he should. He wasn’t sure what to do. 

It was probably fifteen steps across the meadow, maybe twenty if he was shortening his stride, and with each one he felt his frustration with his father mixing with the anticipation of talking with Astrid, of sparring with her, of what might happen. 

Of course, that’s when his imagination conjured up his father’s voice in his mind, vivid and instant. _Responsibility_. _You know the consequences._  

Hiccup clenched his jaw a moment. Like he didn’t know what that meant. He had enjoyed a moment of shameful pleasure that Stoick still didn’t know how to talk about anything having to do with sex, and that he knew his father wouldn’t, or couldn’t, elaborate on his warning. 

All the same, Hiccup did know what Stoick’s warning was about. Don’t get caught. Don’t do something stupid. Don’t treat Astrid in a way that would compromise how others treated her. 

That last thought made him tighten his jaw again. 

He looked up, and the sun glinted off Astrid’s hair, a flash of silver against the nearly white blonde braid resting on her shoulder. The sun had lightened her hair, he realized. She’d rebraided it, too, and it looked different. 

She raised her head and smiled as he approached. She looked more relaxed, he thought. Her shoulders were back, her smile easy and warm. She was still sharpening her axe, and as he drew closer, he realized she probably looked relaxed because she was surrounded by an arsenal. 

How much had she carried to the meadow, half of her weaponry? He counted quickly. No, it could only be a small portion of it. Leaning against the rock next to her were two staves, one that looked to be entirely wood and another with metal spears on the ends. Next to that was her sword, and a narrower metal spear she used for target practice. Below, resting in the grass, was her throwing axe, which he’d made for her… Hiccup frowned briefly. Had it been a year or more since he’d built it? It seemed like a lifetime ago, and yet recently enough that he could remember so many things that had happened, that had changed between them, indelible in his memory like they'd just happened. 

Then Astrid stood and leaped into the air, landing on the grass in front of him. “You’re late.”

“Council. And my dad.” Even with residual confusion and annoyance from his conversation with his father, the fact that she leapt towards him, that she dove off a dragon into his arms or jumped into the air when he approached, filled him with a quiet joy that felt buoyant in his chest, pushing his exasperation aside. 

She didn’t greet him with a touch or a gesture, but she stood so close to him, he could pick out individual shades of blue in her eyes as she looked up at him, her brows wrinkling.

“Council? In the middle of the day? Everything good?”

“Yeah. Old people sleep too much and we need to be careful of fires, basically.” 

She turned and walked next to him as he moved into the shade to drop his satchel at the base of a tree. “That doesn’t sound too bad. So why are you so irritated?”

He turned, frowning. “Me?”

“Yeah. Why the bad mood?”

“How can you tell?”

“Tell what, that you’re irritated?”

“Yes.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Hiccup. You were holding on to the strap of that bag like it’s got a dragon in it and it’s going to fire at you and fly away. The knuckles of your other hand are white and that staff is going to crack any second. Plus, you’re glaring at the dirt and digging your leg into the ground as you walk. The metal one.”

He stared at her. She noticed…him? That closely? She noticed all of that and recognized it? 

The same thought must have entered her mind as well, because she blushed and looked away at the treetops beside them before looking back and shrugging half-heartedly, a more uncertain expression on her face. 

“You’re right,” he said after a moment. His mouth had gone dry. “I was irritated. Am. Or, was. Not now.”

Astrid’s smile reappeared, and she took his staff from his hand. “Either way, good fuel for battle, right?” She spun the weapon between her fingers, balancing its weight on the back of her hand, tossing it lightly then spinning it over her shoulder, then behind her. 

Hiccup glanced at the sky, which was a pale blue overhead like the heat had leached the color out of it, and pulled off his overshirt. It was already too hot, so better to start in lighter clothing. When he glanced at Astrid, she was staring at the short sleeves of his undershirt, a thoughtful, almost predatory expression on her face. 

“What are you plotting?” He smiled easily and took the staff from her hand.

“Nothing.” Her answering grin was quick and seemed genuine, but she still glanced at his chest and shoulders with narrowed eyes before going to pick up her own weapon. 

Hiccup moved into the sun and faced her, his weapon across his body, his stance relaxed but ready. “Same rules?”

“I don’t know. What were Tuffnut’s rules?”

“He didn’t have any. I made them up.”

“Ah.”

“Any tap is a point, first to 5 wins. Five matches total.”

“Any fouls?”

“None yet.” Hiccup smiled at her, at her eagerness to fight. 

She flew towards him again. “Then let’s go.” 

 

 


	17. Sparring and Battle

Hold. 

Parry, dodge left. 

Jump further. 

Spin, then thrust. 

Missed. 

He’ll hit high next- no, low. 

Wait… wait… no. 

_Now._

Parry, block, dodge left. He’s stronger on the left. 

Should hit right. 

Spin left, duck, thrust and tap. 

Missed again. 

Keep the sun behind. Though his hair shades his eyes. It won’t bother him. 

He has a lot of hair. How is it not-

Stop. 

_Stop. Focus._

Dodge again. 

Spin and attack. 

Behind, then front. 

Reach….

Tap on the shoulder - one point for her. 

The sun was high above them, and offered no shade unless they stopped and walked off the field. The staves were not that heavy, but the effort of studying one another’s technique, observing positions and likely attack patterns, and holding enough distance to craft a new strategy in the moment between strikes made them both sweaty within minutes. Astrid’s bangs were wet, and her grip was loose, since holding on too tight with slick hands was how mistakes were made. 

She’d won the first point but not easily. What she’d assumed would be his weaknesses were more difficult to break past, and she was more determined to win, to find any possible opportunities to score. 

After an unspoken but mutually agreed upon break, both of them wiping their faces and taking a moment to catch their breath, Hiccup spun his weapon through his hands and faced her. 

“Ready?”

“Absolutely.”

This time, instead of attacking, she held position, staff pointed toward the ground, her legs bent. The mostly defensive posture threw him for a minute. She could see his eyes widen a fraction before he focused. 

His eyes tracked everywhere, all over her, but in no discernible pattern or repeated path. What was he looking for? 

What was he looking at?

She spun slowly, waiting for him to move in, to attack, but he didn’t. His position mirrored hers, staff held loosely in his hands, with the end slightly higher than hers, but still aimed toward the ground. 

If she lifted and spun, he’d tap her as she turned. 

When was he going to attack?

Come _on_ already. 

She could wait. She could wait all afternoon, really. Her chores were done, and Sigrid had told her what they’d be “cooking” that day, so she had a few hours before anyone looked for her.

Slowly she moved in a circle away from him, comfortable moving backwards because she knew everything around her, knew there were no obstacles. She only needed to watch him, figure out his next move. 

Wait. 

His leg. The metal. He’d pivot on that leg. 

So if he’s - there. 

Her eyes narrowed, and she attacked, spinning to her right and raising her staff as -

She felt and heard the tap against her shoulder. 

 _Thor_ _damn it._

She’d left her back vulnerable when she turned. 

It was 1 to 1. 

Astrid didn’t break this time, and launched back into an offensive strike which surprised him but not enough to allow her a point. The air around them filled with the soft whistle of the spinning wood, the harsh staccato of staves striking one another, and the louder rush of breath as they sparred. There weren’t many long pauses of silence, as Astrid was determined to remain on the offensive, and to her annoyance, she found that Hiccup’s defensive skills were tough to break.

Spin and reach to tap. 

Reach. 

Slipped on the grass - spin again.

Missed. 

Hold, lever into the ground.

Wait - jump over his low attack. 

Easy. 

They broke apart, circling, watching one another, watching the tips of their weapons for signs of movement, wary and alert.

Tuffnut had definitely taught him moves she wanted to learn. How had he reached so far so quickly to tap her shoulder as she spun? Her eyes narrowed. 

Spin and jump. 

Ha! He didn’t expect that. 

Again. 

He stumbled.

Good, now other side. 

Tap! Another point! 

“Nice one.” Hiccup was breathless, and took several steps away from her, lifting the hem of his shirt to wipe his face. 

She should have looked away to avoid being distracted by her heartbeat, which of course sped up by an embarrassing amount, but she didn’t. 

The match continued, each scoring points off the other so that in most cases, they were tied until someone reached five hits. One match took quiet awhile, and Astrid felt herself sliding into the comforting and familiar state battle focus, her attention targeted on the fight in front of her, and beneath her fingertips. 

Sometimes she saw Hiccup as an opponent, faceless and adversarial. But then his eyes would come into focus, the concentration and fierceness of his mouth causing her breath to stutter a moment, interrupting the strategy she developed as she watched his movements. She could predict where he’d hit next, but only sometimes. 

They stood, poised, her staff high, his low diagonal across his body, the end nearest her close to the ground. 

Her eyes jumped from the staff to his hands to his eyes. His eyes might tell her where and when his next move will be. 

Don’t look look at the staff. That allows him a chance to get a hit. 

In the middle of the second match, Astrid grew angry at herself for being distracted by his eyes and allowing him a point. She caught herself hoping he’d pull off his shirt. It was difficult to balance strategy tactics and adversarial analysis - which her brain did instinctively within seconds - with the desire for a slower perusal, to look at Hiccup and enjoy the coiled strength, to study the shifts of his muscles as they battled. It was even more difficult to shut off her imagination, which was much more interesting than her battle strategy and always at the worst possible moments.

It was a game, but it wasn’t. And she was increasingly angry at herself for her own vulnerability, her inability to control her attention as much as she liked. 

So she drew on that fury like a volatile fuel, pushing herself through the second match, which Hiccup won, and into the third. 

It began with a long stretch of wary defensive circling, each of them watching intently, not moving to strike unless the other moved first.

Then Astrid scored three points in rapid succession, the last one tapping hard enough that he jumped back. 

“Sorry.”

“No need to be sorry,” he said with a shrug, flexing and bending his arm and rubbing his shoulder. His biceps caught her attention when they began again, the curving shadow that formed when he stretched, and he managed to get a tap on her leg while she was correcting her balance. In her fury at herself, she scored another point, but was careful not to strike too hard.

The final point took longer but it went to her. She’d won the third match. 

They took a longer break, moving into the shade beneath the pine trees ringing the meadow’s edge. Leaning against the same tree, they shared the water Hiccup pulled from his bag. The sky was still a bleached, pale blue, though it did seem a little cooler. Maybe the heat was finally going to leave. All that heat and tension was exhausting. 

Hiccup nudged her with one arm, and passed a small packet of dried fruit - all the kinds she liked best. She smiled at him and, leaning her head back on the trunk of the tree, closed her eyes. There was a special sort of peace, of tranquil relaxation that she felt when she was with him. She could tell him anything and he’d understand, and if he didn’t, he’d listen and ask questions. She knew him more intricately with each season that passed, and often her mind processed strategy with him in much the same way she approached sparring. There was the immediate step, the action that had to be taken, then the reaction to consider, and the step after that. In sparring, it was the balance and rebalance defense and offense. 

But with Hiccup, it was knowing what needed to happen, or what should happen, listening to Hiccup’s perspective, and figuring out what came next together. He was right that he needed to practice with weapons that required close fighting, in part to defend himself and in part to…. 

Well, he had to know. Astrid opened her eyes, frowning up at the pine needles that spread out above her in a myriad collection of dark green fans that filtered the sunlight. It was part of being a viking, she supposed. Fighting was a way of life - an occupational hazard, as Stoick liked to call it. There were raids, enemies, dragons that might not be easily trained, fights between vikings who couldn’t take an axe to the head as a negative answer. 

He just… had to know how to do it. 

But he knew that. And she was a little surprised and more pleased that he was pretty good. Better than good. 

His voice scattered her thoughts in a million directions. “Ready to continue?” 

“Sure am,” she replied, standing and reaching down to pull him up next to her. But when she turned to reach for him, he was already standing, and the back of her hand bounced off his shirt. “Oh! Sorry about that.”

Hiccup rubbed his stomach with a half smile. “Not a problem.” 

They walked into the sun, both squinting against the harsh light. 

“Staves are not my favorite weapon,” she said, balancing hers in one hand, then tossing it from one hand to the other. 

“No?”

“Not really, no. Sword versus staff is more my style - if I have the sword.” 

“Want to switch? Better for me to face you with your strongest weapon.”

“That’d be my axe.”

“True,” Hiccup replied with a frown. 

“But axes are a one-shot weapon most of the time. Throw it and make the throw count. I can hack my way through things with it, but I wouldn’t use it in battle unless I were sighting a target farther than arm’s reach away from me and Stormfly.”

“Right.” Hiccup’s voice was quiet, distracted, and his eyes had taken on a faraway, unfocused look. 

“Hiccup.”

His lips moved slightly. 

“Hiccup!”

He flinched. “What?”

“I could have scored ten hits on you and you wouldn’t have noticed.”

“No, I would have noticed. You don’t go easy on me.”

She smiled at him, unrepentant. “That’s true. And it’s not like you mind.”

His smile answered hers, warm and content. “No, no, I don’t. Though….”

When his voice trailed off and he didn’t continue, Astrid wanted to hit him on the head. Hard. “What?”

“I could design a weapon that included an axehead, but could be used in close combat.”

“Design later. Fight now.”

He shrugged, a wry smile on his face. “You’re the boss.”

They took position, and began to circle one another again, eyes glancing from weapon point to face to arms to weapon again, gauging the other’s next move. 

Astrid was the first to break the silence. “What’s your best weapon?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. Is there someone else here?”

“Funny.”

“I am. It’s true.” She reached forward, the end of her staff meeting the midpoint of his as he dodged her attack and used the momentum of his body to push her back. She regained her balance, then looked up at him. “So?”

Hiccup frowned, watching her carefully, probably thinking that she was trying to distract him. He wasn’t wrong about that, but she genuinely did want to know what he considered his strongest weapon. 

“Probably bow and arrow, or crossbow. Distance and aim.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” 

“I mean, if you want to challenge me on that, I can go hike for awhile, climb a tree and shoot at you.” 

Astrid’s laughter echoed against the stone cliffs beyond the meadow. “No, but thanks for the offer.”

His smile, relaxed and open, made her laugh again. 

“I do like the way you think, though.”

 They circled slowly, and then the silence was broken by the sharp strikes of staff against staff, grunts and low curses as they continued to try to score points off one another. It was longer and longer between points, both of them growing tired but unwilling to stop. 

The Astrid noticed he was frowning at her. 

“What?”

Hiccup’s eyes narrowed, and his look became curious. Their positions paused but remained active in subtle but visible shifts in strength and defense, neither stepping back to stop the match, or giving quarter. 

“Hiccup. What?”

He glanced at her, then at her staff, then back at her face. 

His expression made her step back, out of combat, though she raised her staff in case he was trying to trick her. “Is something wrong?”

“No.”

“Then why are you looking at me like that?”

“You don’t try to hit my leg.”

She recoiled, disgust flooding her, followed by anger. “Ugh. Why would I attack your leg?”

He advanced, his mouth taut and determined, and she backed slowly in a circle away from him. Astrid sent her staff spinning faster and faster, changing direction from hand to hand, but he didn’t look away from her face. 

Then he moved, so swiftly she barely had time to pivot. He dropped his weight onto his metal leg, sweeping his other leg towards her, his staff following to try to knock her off balance. 

“Like that?” He jumped away, striking forward with the sharp end of the staff, both legs beneath him again. 

She parried his strikes but wasn’t able to make any of her own. “Yes, like that. Why would I do that?” 

Then she flipped past him, landing on one leg and sweeping her staff in an arc across the grass, bending each green blade as she swung toward Hiccup’s leg. He evaded her easily. 

“Hiccup. That’s the first thing an opponent who doesn’t know you would do. You’re too smart for that. You probably practiced that first.” 

His ears were turning red, but his voice sounded mostly normal, though he was slightly out of breath. “Good point.”

They continued sparring, the intensity building and declining in even waves until he struck down from above with his staff and she blocked him, crossing hers against his. They held the position for a breath, then another, and another, neither wanting to yield.

Then she turned beneath his outstretched arms and into his body, knowing it would knock him off balance. Her back brushed against his chest and she felt him stagger. Then she tilted her staff to lightly tap him on the head. “Point’s mine.” 

She jumped away from him. When she looked over her shoulder, he was shaking his head at her, but he was smiling. 

He lowered his stance and prepared to battle. This was what she knew. Battle was a serious issue for every viking, and especially for Astrid.

But now, after talking with him, seeing some of the technique he’d learned, she didn’t want to fight as much. It was hard to focus suddenly, hard to fight someone she didn’t actively want to hit. Not too hard, anyway. Sometimes, she’d wanted to knock him sideways, especially if he did something dangerous or stupid, or went off to do either and didn’t bring her along. If that happened, she wanted to hit him until he passes out. 

Right then, she didn’t want to hit him at all, even though she had a nice selection of her arsenal in the grass nearby. The sun had darkened the freckles on his shoulders, and his hair was sweaty, his skin gleaming. She wanted to tap each freckle with her fingertips, run her hands through his hair and taste the salt on his skin. 

She tightened her grip on her weapon for a moment, and bit her lips to keep from laughing at where her thoughts had suddenly turned. 

“What are you smiling about?”

She shook her head. She couldn’t say out loud that she’d been thinking about… alternate staves he might have hidden away, but still nearby. 

“Come on, what’s going on?”

She shook her head again, and with no warning, he reached forward, grabbed hold of the end of her staff, and pulled her towards him. She hadn’t anticipated the move, and was immediately off balance, but with the strength of his arms, he continued pulling her forward, then pivoted to push her staff to the side and catch her when she stumbled. She landed sideways against him, and he supported her weight easily until she stood up again. 

“What was that? You didn’t tell me you could do that!” 

“Why would I tell you? Never reveal everything to your opponent, right?”

“Even to me?”

“Especially to you.” His voice dropped as he spoke, and she saw him glance at her lips, then immediately look back at her eyes. “You’re my toughest opponent. You know my weaknesses, my strengths… and more of my weaknesses.”

His voice was wry and self-deprecating and her rejection was instant, accompanied by a glare. “You’re not weak.” 

Fury bubbled in her veins and her skin burned hot for a moment. Why would he say that? She wanted to hit him again, for real, hard enough to put him to sleep and wake him back up again. But she didn’t move, didn’t step out of his embrace, her weapon forgotten in one hand. 

“You can probably kill me, Astrid.”

“I can definitely kill you, Hiccup. But you’re not weak. You can kill me, too.”

“Not likely.”

She smiled slowly as wicked, tempting thoughts chased one another around her mind. Was she going to have to show him how good he was, how much he knew? That sounded promising. “You can definitely kill me. In good ways.”

She watched the flush spread up his neck and over his cheeks. If she wasn’t already fluent in the subtle changes of his expressions, his tendency to turn red would be a map she followed everywhere it went. It was tempting to follow it now, to find out how far it went. 

After a moment, Astrid took a step back, stood and faced him for another match. Then she lowered her weapon. She didn’t want to fight any longer. She didn’t want to fight him, specifically. 

Well, she wanted to tackle him, but that was different. “Can we stop?”

“Sure. Are you alright?”

She nodded, spinning her weapon through her hands. “We can head back in a little while.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	18. Feeling Stillness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies, mes amis, for missing my post date. My life has been more busy-crazy than usual, but I'm hoping I can stick to a Friday schedule from now on. My apologies and merci for all your patience!

That night, the sky was ominous, with clouds and a thickness in the air that promised some kind of change. Dim flashes of lightning lit the horizon, but never came any closer. They stayed too far away to reach in flight, a deceptive distance across the waters, taunting them with possibility of ending the heat. 

After a hasty mid-air discussion during patrol, the twins, Snotlout, Fishlegs and Hiccup had planned to meet at the falls for dinner, an alternate spot for a cooking fire that Tuffnut had immediately agreed to build. It was too hot for their usual bonfire on the high platform, and Stoick had decreed that no fires which weren’t absolutely necessary should be lit near Berk. But Stick had agreed with Hiccup that a fire near the falls would be safe enough, since it could be easily extinguished if it found dry kindling and began to spread.

Because he’d finished his chores early, and because he was bringing the food, Hiccup was the first to arrive. Unlike his last visit to the falls, he didn’t swim, and he didn’t remove Toothless’ flying harness, but he did roll up his leggings and sit on a flat rock above the water, watching the falls, dangling his bare foot below the surface with the metal one tucked beneath him. 

He didn’t want to look at the rock where he’d been, where they’d been. It was like a magnet pulling on his attention, and he wanted to stare, envision what had happened, ponder it from another angle. Walk through every step in his mind, each moment like he had so many times since. But if he did that, there’d be visible consequences, and even though he wasn’t sure if Astrid was joining the group, he did know the rest of them would show up soon enough, and he’d need to stand up and help build the fire. 

Toothless was behind him, drinking from the pond and shifting his wings in the air, allowing the mist to coat his skin until slender rivulets ran between the scales and spots on his back. Hiccup’s hair grew damp as the falls created a cool and secluded cover for them both. It was quiet and comfortable, and Toothless stretched out for a nap since the baskets of fish and chicken were unloaded. Once Toothless had sighed in a way that signaled snoring was imminent, Hiccup leaned back on his dragon’s side and looked up, allowing his mind to wander. 

It wandered immediately to Astrid. 

He allowed it. There wasn’t much he could do about it anyway.

Hiccup’s feelings for Astrid were a part of him, one he was so familiar with, he couldn’t remember not having them tucked away in an alcove in his heart, next to “I don’t understand my dad” and however he felt for Gobber, which he knew but couldn’t define. It was like breathing, or having a pencil in his hand, or taking things apart to figure out how they worked and how to make them better. Breathe, draw, build, love Astrid, get up the next day and repeat. 

But long ago, Hiccup had also realized that Astrid didn’t feel the same way about him. She didn’t feel that way about anyone, near as he could tell. And so the best way for him to show that he loved her was to never, ever let on how he felt. To not burden her with the knowledge of what he felt for her, of how easily she could crush him inside. Telling her would change their relationship, maybe end it entirely. He’d rather have her as his friend, his closest friend, the person he turned to for everything, an extension of his mind and his heart the way the things he built with his hands were an extension of his body. He didn’t want to lose her, so he kept himself quiet. 

He also realized as they grew up together that to show her or give any indication of how much he desired her would be worse than telling her how he felt. Snotlout’s clumsy, awkward and altogether gross attempts to charm her went so badly, Astrid hadn’t been in a room alone with him for more than a year. Any attempt by any viking to attract her attention or interest met with scorn, anger, and sometimes an axe. Hiccup, being as observant as he was, knew that any similar efforts on his part would be a disaster for everyone, and would ruin the strong and changing friendship they had. 

She was too valuable to him, so he never let her know how much he wanted her, how much he thought about her, how she knocked the air out of his chest just by smiling at him. He couldn’t hide much from her, but he could hide that. 

Or he thought he could. She hadn’t changed the way she treated him in the past few years, except to steadily grow closer. She used to stand an arm’s length away, but now she’d stand next to him, close enough that he could hear her muttering to him underneath her breath. She put her arm around him or punched him more often, too, not that he counted. 

Who was he kidding? Of course he counted. He knew the exact number of times she touched him, cataloged each contact in his mind. 

But he’d never made a move toward her. 

Except that now, he had. 

More than once. 

The last time they were at the falls, and again earlier that afternoon, after he’d shown her how to pull an opponent off balance, and how to defend against the same technique. Once she’d perfected the movements, both offensive and defensive - not that she ever needed help knocking him sideways - he’d used it on her, slowly, deliberately. And she’d allowed it, letting him pull her closer, into his arms and against his body. 

 When she fell into his embrace, he’d allowed his desire to take over, to communicate what he didn’t know how to say, without thinking first about his actions. He acted. With one hand, he’d caught the back of her neck beneath her braid and held her still, tilting her head so his mouth slanted over hers. Her fingers had clutched at his shirt, pulling the fabric taut against his back, and he’d deepened the kiss, tasting her, leaving no doubt as to how much he wanted everything that was happening in that moment. 

She’d moved closer still, pulling at his clothing, then sliding her hands beneath the fabric to explore the skin of his back, his sides. He had kept one hand behind her neck, the tips of his fingertips slowly burying themselves in the softness of her hair beneath her braid, careful not to pull.

His other hand was free to explore. Logical thoughts had instantly burned away in his mind, and he flew on instinct, his movements based on what he wanted to taste, or touch, or learn. Keeping his arm around her to make sure she stayed pressed against him, he slid his fingers over her side, his thumb coming to rest below her breast, teasing her, waiting for a response, a reaction he could read. 

Her hands flew over his back, fingertips tracing the muscles above his hips and sliding around to his front. 

 He had to stop her, slow her down, prevent her from distracting him. Urged on by his own response and hers, he moved his hand up, over, feeling her nipple against the palm of his hand, then sliding his fingers so he caught it between them and pinched lightly. 

He felt her nails against his ribs at the same moment he felt her mouth tense, the tone of their kiss changing from pliant incendiary exploration to tension. His response was instinctive, faster than his mind could think and process. He held her still, tightening his grip to stop her, his hands on the back of her neck and on her side, keeping her from moving for one moment, then another. 

Their mouths separated as she gasped. 

He opened his eyes to see, to apologize, and the expression on her face made him freeze. 

She looked like she had by the falls, as she’d urged him on and guided him across her body, only more ferocious, lit from inside with an intensity, a fury he’d never seen before. 

She’d pivoted, taking advantage of his stunned motionlessness, and pushed him against a tree. He’d had a fraction of a second to wonder what it was with Astrid and trees before she’d pulled his mouth to hers and kissed him with a fierceness he hadn’t experienced, and wasn’t sure how to handle. She’d trapped him agains the bark, her body against his, her hips pivoting to press closer, and there was no way he could hide his reaction to her. Her hands had found the waistband of his leggings and his breathing turned jagged and rough. He was about to answer her movements with equal strength and attention when Astrid jumped away from him, again leaving him surprised and still. 

“Hiccup. What time is it? How long have we been here?”

There was no way he’d have been able to come up with an answer that was close to correct, but he hadn’t needed to. Astrid had tilted her head to look at the sun and then at the shadows on the cliffs behind them, and cursed. With a short and apologetic farewell, she’d kissed him quickly, then gathered her weapons to run full speed back towards Berk. He’d stood in the shadows, watching her disappear into the trees, then waiting for his heart to slow down, before he’d picked up his own weapon and followed the same path.

He hadn’t seen her since, though the memory of her mouth, the way her hands had grabbed him without hesitation, the way his fingers had slid over her skin, the way she’d reacted when he’d held her still had taken up residence on the fringes of his mind. He felt like he had learned something immense, something terribly important, but he wasn’t sure what to do with the knowledge, the ideas that were swirling in his mind.

It didn’t help that traces of her scent had teased his attention as he’d helped Gobber in the forge after he’d walked back to the village. He’d looked around expecting to see her. Then he’d realized that it was him, his clothing, or his skin maybe, that held some small remnant of her, enough that he’d sense her on a changing current of air and have to stop himself from looking for her.

And now he was back in the same position he’d been in before they’d sparred in the meadow, undecided of what to do and unsure of himself. Each time they moved closer together, obliterating some of the boundaries between them, he was left unsure of what came next when they were apart. He was still sometimes afraid to let Astrid feel that he was hard, that her touch set off explosions inside his body and there were outward signs he couldn’t hide. 

But that afternoon, she’d seemed to welcome that knowledge, to enjoy the evidence that she affected him. She’d had some wicked plan in mind before she realized she’d had to go, and he wished he knew what it was.

Still, he was afraid to make the first move toward her. One boundary was gone, but there were others, some he couldn’t identify, and some he know of and was afraid to break. 

And he had to stop thinking about this because he wouldn’t be able to stand up at all when the others arrived. Thinking about her and remembering how close she’d been to touching him, how much of her he’d touched, had the exact effect he was trying to avoid, and he reached his hand into the swirling water to splash his face and hair, hoping to counter it. 

Then, above his head, two battle cries broke the roaring of the walls, and Barf and Belch came into view, their riders standing on their heads, arms in the air. 

“We have come to conquer this place!” Ruffnut removed his helmet and hung it off his saddle as he spoke. “We arrive victorious, with fire! Or, the makings of fire. A grand fire! For the making of dinner!” 

With that, he jumped off Barf’s head, curling into a ball and splashing into the water a few yards away from Hiccup, drenching him with a perfectly aimed wave. 

“Thanks, Tuff,” Hiccup said, pushing his hair back and standing up to wring out his shirt. 

“You’re welcome!” Tuff showed no awareness that for once, Hiccup wasn’t being sarcastic. He pulled himself from the water, twisting the water out of his own clothes as he continued his speech. “I see you have brought fine provisions, Young Master Hiccup! We shall have a fire to compliment them - and to compliment us, as excellent as we are!” 

Hiccup shook his head. Maybe there was some plant somewhere that Tuff ate every day, and that was what made him so strange. Even Ruff was shaking her head at him from above them both before she directed Barf and Belch to land behind Toothless. 

Tuff built the as-promised excellent fire, and Ruff and Hiccup found sticks of sufficient length to cook their food. Fishlegs arrived in time to help widen the core of fire so all of them could use it to cook, and Snotlout, as always, arrived for the easiest part, just as everyone was sitting down to hold their meal over the flames. 

“Fish again? Ugh,” Snotlout said as Hiccup moved a good sized cod above the hottest part of the fire. “What is it with you?” 

Hiccup didn’t bother to reply. He could tell Snotlout was looking to fight with someone. He was restless, constantly shifting position as he cooked a chicken. His mouth was fixed in a sneer, and his eyebrows were down over his eyes, making it look like he was glaring at the fire, at Hiccup, at the others, at the waterfall. Snotlout in a mood would argue with anyone, and Hiccup made as good an option as anyone. 

Unfortunately, ignoring him didn’t help. “You need to eat real food, or you’re never going to be man enough for her, you toothpick.”

Hiccup turned his head slightly, unable to stop himself from staring at Snotlout, but hoping the anger that instantly boiled over in his veins didn’t show too clearly on his face. It probably did, despite his efforts to keep his face impassive; Fishlegs flinched visibly when he saw Hiccup’s expression. 

Snotlout’s eyes widened a fraction before he glowered back at Hiccup, lowering his chin like he intended to charge across the fire like a bull with a bee sting. “Yeah, you heard me. Anything to say about it?”

Hiccup drew a breath slowly, discarding a series of replies that, while satisfying, would have only exacerbated the situation, and not likely in his favor. Despite being smarter and faster than Snotlout, Snotlout had the advantage of being stronger. And Hiccup had no intention of running away. 

Then Tuffnut interrupted, his voice ebullient, like he had no idea that Snotlout was about to launch himself at Hiccup and start brawling. Ruff had moved her dinner closer to her side of the fire, in case there were punches about to be thrown, and Fishlegs was frozen in place, but Tuff, as always, was oblivious. 

“Never worry, Snotlout. We have the knowledge, all the knowledge we need, regardless of our sustenance! We know no fear! We have -“

Snotlout interrupted him, his voice sharp with derision. “Oh, for Thor’s sake. Shut up about the Not Dragons already.” 

“Never! But you shall not know its secrets if you insult its keeper!”

“Keeper of what, you muttonhead? You can’t even name one thing that makes sense! And I’ve asked! Like, fifteen times!”

Tuffnut’s helmet fell over one eye as he lowered his head and put his hand, the one not holding a rapidly-charring chicken leg over the fire, over his heart. “I cannot share the sacred knowledge with one such as you.”

Hiccup was pretty sure Snotlout’s head was going to combust. He turned bright red, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find coherent words. “You… I - there’s… SHUT UP, YOU IDIOT.”  

His bellow was swallowed by the noise of the falls, but it was loud enough that all their dragons lifted their heads in alarm, with the exception of Hookfang, who never listened to Snotlout, no matter how angry he was. 

Ruffnut slid closer to Snotlout and said something very quiet that Hiccup didn’t hear. 

“What?” Apparently Snotlout couldn’t hear her either. 

Then, to Hiccup’s surprise, Ruff leaned in, her lips close to Snotlout’s ear, and repeated whatever she’d said, a wicked smile playing over her face as she whispered. Snotlout’s eyes grew wide, and his mouth dropped open and stayed that way. He didn’t move or speak for several minutes. 

Tuffnut turned his meal so the other side would cook and looked over at Hiccup. Tuff’s gaze was shrewd, and his eyebrow twitched higher for a moment, his chin lifting in a quiet salute that made no sense to Hiccup, but he nodded in reply.

“How’s sparring, my worthy opponent? Knock Astrid into a tree yet?”

Hiccup stared at him a moment before answering. Had he been spying on them? No, that didn’t seem likely. “No, not yet. She’s better at rapid fire attacks.”

“True enough, my friend, true enough. But you’re good at the jumping thing and, uh, the other thing…that you do. I forgot.”

Hiccup nodded slowly. He glanced at Snotlout, who looked pale and almost sweaty. He hadn’t spoken at all since Ruff had whispered to him. And Ruffnut herself looked very pleased, shooting intermittent glances at Snotlout and smiling down at her hands when she looked away. Fishlegs had moved away from her, and was closer to Hiccup, but the quiet had affected him, too, and they sat in silence as their meals cooked, the cracking of the fire barely audible beneath the never-ending roar of the falls. 

Then with a squawk and the familiar sound of claws on stone, Stormfly landed behind them and Astrid jumped from her saddle, her voice unexpectedly loud, but welcome.

“I am starving! What’s cooking?”

“The usual,” Hiccup said with a smile, looking up at her then looking away, not wanting to let himself gaze at her as much as he wanted to. If Snotlout decided to start talking again, it would be impossible for him to resist mocking Hiccup, and Hiccup didn’t want to give him anything to remark upon.

She sat down next to Hiccup with a relieved sigh. “Good. How long till we eat?”

“Grab a spear, Astrid, and cook yourself a fish,” Tuffnut said, gesturing to the basket of food beside him. 

“Nah, thanks. I’m good,” she replied, nudging Hiccup. “Ugh, why are you all wet?” 

“Tuffnut.”

“Say no more.” He glanced at her just as she looked up at him, and for a breath, the world around them disappeared as their eyes met and held the connection that fed and nourished his heart in tiny portions each day. 

The silence fell around them again, only instead of being peaceful, for Hiccup, it was tense.He wanted to ask her about her day, about what she’d done after she left the meadow, fill in the time since he’d last seen her, but that wouldn’t be… normal. All the questions he wanted to ask pushed to the front of his mind, leaving no room for idle conversation or questions innocuous enough to go unnoticed by the others.

Then Astrid spoke. “Fishlegs. I saw your mom as I was leaving Berk. She said to tell you tomorrow afternoon isn’t good, because it’s going to rain. So she’s going tonight and will be back tomorrow.” 

“It’s not going to rain,” Snotlout scoffed. He’d found his voice again, just in time to make fun of Fishlegs’ mother. This wouldn’t end well. 

“I don’t know, Snotlout, she’s usually right about the weather.” Fishlegs’ voice was smooth and calm, as if Snotlout couldn’t bait him, though Hiccup knew too well that Snotlout knew exactly how to irritate each one of them quickly and efficiently. 

“It hasn’t rained in _weeks_ , Fishbrain. There’s no way it’s going to up and rain tomorrow.”

“Where’s she going?” Hiccup’s question overlapped Snotlouts by a few words, a deliberate move on his part to try to diffuse yet another provoked fight. 

“She has to go gather some of this moss for one of her remedies. Hoark has a cold or something. How he got a cold in this heat is beyond me, but she’s determined he won’t be sick for the wedding.”

“Wedding? What wedding?” Tuffnut sat up like he’d just been jolted awake. Ruffnut scowled at him. “Oh! Oh, right. Fishlegs, your mom is getting married! Did you know that? And it’s in, like, two weeks?”

“Yes, I am aware.” Fishlegs’ eyes widened and he turned to Hiccup. “Hey, I forgot to ask. Are you ready, Hiccup?”

Hiccup felt like someone had dumped water from the northern seas down his back. “Me?” 

“Yeah. Stoick came by yesterday or the day before, said you were both doing the ceremony, or something like that.”

“Really? First I’ve heard of it.” For a moment he’d thought Fishlegs had been asking whether Hiccup was ready for marriage. He hoped his voice sounded normal; his heartbeat didn’t seem inclined to slow down. “I hope it does rain. It’ll be warm enough before we fill the hall with everyone and their families. How many people are coming from your mom’s clan?”

“Oh, at least a hundred.” 

That much he figured, as he’d overheard Stoick making a lot of the arrangements for food, extra tents and places for their guests to sleep. He hadn’t realized his dad wanted him to do anything for the actual ceremony, though. That was usually Stoick’s job, and he was good at it. 

Then Astrid put her hand over his, and his thoughts shattered and blew away like sparks above the fire. He’d been holding the cooking spear in one hand with his other resting on the ground beside him, and he hadn’t moved when Astrid sat down. She’d moved closer to him at some point, and the spikes of her skirt and her armor cast a shadow between them, so her movements weren’t visible. 

First, her fingers traced his, idly, like she wasn’t thinking about what she was doing while she listened to them talking about wedding plans. But then she’d pressed her fingertips along the side of hand, tracing the line of his skin deliberately, ending with a suggestive and incendiary touch over the webbing between his fingers. 

It was all he could to do not drop their meal in to the fire. He couldn’t speak or answer Fishlegs without stammering, and he knew his face was turning red. Her fingertips were skimming over his hand in a way that was not obvious, but set his skin on fire nonetheless, because it echoed how he’d touched her before, how his fingers had slid over her. There were differences, of course, but the end result was similar - he could barely keep himself still, or his voice quiet enough to only reach her ears. “I’m going to drop your meal in the fire if you don’t stop.” 

Her hand came to rest on top of his, completely covering his fingers with her own. The effect was the same. She didn’t move, but her touch roared through his body with the force of the waterfall above them. The water wasn’t touching him, but he could feel the vibrations of it as it roared and fell endlessly from the crack in the valley wall. Likewise, Astrid wasn’t moving her hand, but he would swear to all the Gods he could feel her pulse, feel the echo of her touch running over every inch of his skin. 

“I think the fish is done, don’t you?”

Never before had he taken cooking advice from Astrid, but she was right. It was just about done.  

 

 


	19. Following Shadows

In the past few days, Astrid had experienced fighting Hiccup, angry Hiccup, shocked Hiccup, focused Hiccup, and now, utterly flustered Hiccup. Just by moving her fingertips over the back of his hand, and granted she’d been doing so as suggestively as possible, Hiccup went from relaxed to red faced, his breathing uneven, his attention everywhere and nowhere, like he didn’t know where to look. 

Her lips curved in a tiny self-satisfied smile. She’d been a little bothered that when she’d arrived, he hadn’t spoken much to her, but as usual, just under the surface of calm, Hiccup was as unsettled as she was. She almost resented him for being so good at hiding whether he was affected by her - obvious signs aside, and curse him for wearing a tunic all the time. 

That said, it was fun to discover new ways to reveal what was really going on, even if she was the only one to recognize the signs. 

After they ate, Tuffnut turned to Hiccup with his hands on his hips, standing above the fire so the light made his features grotesque. 

“Hiccup! Surely you have not forgotten! Surely not!”

“No, not at all. Bottom of the basket, the one on the left.”

“You brought mead?” Fishlegs sounded shocked but eager. 

“Yeah, Tuff requested it. We’ve got too many barrels of it for the wedding and we’re running out of room.”

“I’ve got plenty of room for it,” Snotlout said as he strutted over to the small cask that Tuff placed on a flat stone. 

“Mugs, too! You are prepared.” Tuffnut’s voice was muffled, since he was bent from the waist into the basket, trying to the bottom. He could tip it on its side, but Astrid didn’t think he wanted help or a suggestion. He’d figure it out, or he’d fall on his head, and either way he’d be fine. 

Tuff stood up. “Hey. There’s another cask in here. But it’s tiny. What’s this for?”

“That one’s mine,” Hiccup said, sitting up to reach toward it. Tuff tossed the miniature barrel at him with scant interest, focused on getting his share after Snotlout stepped away from the mead.

Astrid frowned at the absurdly small cask in his hands and leaned closer to look at it. “What is that?”

Hiccup handed it to Astrid and kept his voice quiet. “Honey mead. Brought it for you.”  

“Wow.” Astrid’s eyes widened, shock covering her in a hot rush, almost smothering the ember of delight that lit in her chest at his kindness. “Thank you.” 

He shrugged, his smile hesitant. He passed her a mug.

She cracked the seal and filled her cup, then turned to him. “Did you make this?” 

“The mead? No.”

“No, Hiccup. The cask.” 

He nodded, glancing at her, at the cup in her hand. “Last week. Figured it would be useful if we were all flying somewhere and needed to bring liquids.”

“So I’m your test subject?”

“Something like that.”

The mead was her favorite kind, and there wasn’t much made every year, since adding honey meant there was less honey available to be used elsewhere, and most vikings liked their mead just as much without it. She knew Hiccup had saved some for her from previous parties and tribe gatherings, but she hadn’t realized there was any left of the stash he’d kept.

She didn’t want to share it, and she knew Snotlout and Tuffnut would drink the other cask he’d brought within the hour. Slowly, so as not to cause much notice, she unlaced and removed her shoulder armor and draped it over her cask, hiding it from view. 

Fishlegs sat down on her other side with his own mug, happy and content by the fire, having eaten an enormous amount of chicken and some fish besides. The light of the flames danced over all of them as they drank and relaxed together. The tension in Snotlout’s face began to smooth, though Astrid was suspicious of Ruffnut, who seemed intent on staying near Snotlout. Every few minutes, she’d lean toward him and murmur comments that only he could hear, things that would turned his face either red, or icy white. 

“I think we should go swimming,” Tuffnut announced, setting his empty mug down with a loud clack.

“Why do you always drink so fast?” Fishlegs shook his head. “Don’t you want to savor it?”

“No. I want to drink it, and then go swimming.” Tuff yanked off his shirt and started pulling the strings on his leggings. “Who’s with me?” 

Fishlegs protested again. “You can’t swim right after you eat. You’ll get a cramp and drown!” 

Snotlout shook his head, scowling at him.“Nah, that’s just a myth. Right, Astrid?” 

Astrid covered her face with one hand but nodded. “Yeah. Gothi and Sigrid both say it’s not true.”

“So we swim! Or better yet, we jump! Barf, Belch, to the sky! Let us fall and float like the water!”

Fishlegs pushed himself up and began removing his vest. “Water doesn’t float.” 

“It will when I’m done with it!” Tuffnut kicked his clothing to the side and strode toward Barf and Belch, who were napping. They refused to budge. 

“They’re not going anywhere, bro. They just ate. They might not get a cramp, but they will yak all over the place.”

“Ugh. True. Forgot about that. But how can I make an epic splash without my dragon to dive from?”

“Climb the cliff wall. The one that’s wet.” The sneer on Snotlout’s face made his voice slimy. 

“Oh! I know.” Ruffnut sat up and looked at Snotlout. “Let’s hunt.”

Astrid frowned. What was she up to? 

“Hunt what, sister mine? We just ate, and we have - or had - mead. What more do we need to hunt for?”

“Vikings! Viking hunt!” 

Tuffnut narrowed his eyes at his sister, visibly unsure what she meant. 

“One of us hides, and the others have to find him, and the last to discover the hiding spot is the next to go.”

Tuff was unimpressed. “Didn’t we play that when we were kids?”

“Yeah, but now we can fly to hiding places, have the dragons drop us in remote locations. More fun that way.” 

Remote locations. Well, now, Astrid thought, glancing at Hiccup. That did sound kind of promising. 

“Snotlout, you go first.” Ruffnut pushed Snotlout until he stood up. 

He complained the entire time. “Why do I have to go first? I’m not even done with my drink.”

Ruff ignored him. “Ok, here’s the perimeter.” She sketched the campsite, the falls and the water in the dirt with a stick. “The cliffs are here, and the tall pines are over here. We stay between these points, but we can hide anywhere.”

Astrid was paying minimal attention to what Ruffnut was saying, but she was carefully studying Ruff’s face. She was being really weird - which was saying something. Usually Ruff had no energy or interest in much of anything. She never suggested activities that required her to leave a fire, much less a fire with food nearby. 

But off she went, pushing Snotlout away from the warmth and into the darkness to go hide so they could hunt for him. “Take as long as you need to hide, but not too long. We’ll fire into the air to signal that the hunt is on.”

Snotlout paused to look at the cask longingly. “Can I bring some mead with me?” 

“Sure you can.” Ruff’s voice coy and encouraging. “Take as much as you like. It might take awhile to find us- I mean, you.”

“She’s up to something,” Hiccup murmured. “Not sure I want to know.”

Astrid nodded, but didn’t look away from Ruff. “Not sure it matters.”  

To Astrid’s complete surprise, Ruff turned back to the fire and wiggled her eyebrows at Astrid as she sat down, before she glanced over her shoulder at Snotlout’s retreating form. 

Astrid was about to ask Ruff what she was up to, but Tuff walked in front of her, interrupting her train of thought.He was completely nude, covered with dried dirt, and scratching himself, and Astrid jerked back, covering her mead with one hand. “Ugh, Tuffnut!”

 “What? I’m swimming. Now. The hunt can wait; the water cannot.”

“You can say that again,” Ruff said, lifting one leg to kick her brother toward the water. 

“You too, missy, or I’m telling mom.”

Ruff shot to her feet, her hands fisted by her side. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would. And will. Let’s go.”

A few moments later, a happy bellow and an outraged shriek filled the air. Fishlegs was partially undressed, but unlike Tuffnut, he was a bit more modest - for Viking standards, anyway. “Excuse me,” he said around a yawn, then wandered off into the trees. 

Perfect. 

Astrid turned to Hiccup, who was watching the fire. Whatever she’d been about to say flew out of her head when she realized how very close to him she was. Over the course of dinner, she’d moved toward him, curving her body towards his. 

Their legs were touching, connected nearly hip to knee. He was sitting with his metal leg folded in front of him, slightly away from her, and her legs were curled beneath her, which meant she leaned into him, their shoulders touching. When she looked at his face, she could see his freckles up close, and the shadow of beard that she secretly loved, now that she knew what it felt like up close, how it scratched the skin on her neck, and on her chin. 

As she studied him in the shifting firelight, the faint beginnings of lines beside his eyes caught her attention. She’d known him since she was born. She knew everyone. Berk wasn’t a large place, no matter how many families had however many children. 

But as her eyes followed the lines by his eyes, the shadow of whiskers, the thickness of his hair that looked more like his father’s hair with each passing season, she realized she was looking at signs of Hiccup growing older. There were new indications, tiny ones she hadn’t noticed before, and she wanted to catalog them all, find and explore the changes she couldn’t see. The idea that there were parts of him she didn’t know, sides of him that were entirely new to her was alarming. And enticing.

 Her small sigh shifted his hair, and he turned to look at her. Their faces were a breath apart, and she looked at his lips, then back at his eyes. His gaze was constant, watching her, his expression open and relaxed. 

They were alone at the campfire. Fishlegs was still off in the trees, and the twins were splashing each other, their curses and laughter bouncing off the cliffs behind them. Astrid wanted to kiss him more than she wanted anything, but she didn’t allow herself to close the distance. If she kissed him, she wouldn’t stop. 

He reached up and pushed her bangs out of her eyes, and smiled at her, that private, half-smile that belonged only to her. 

He touched her more easily now, and she welcomed it, welcomed the knowledge that he would kiss her cheek, take her hand, even touch her hair without worrying about it, or thinking about it first. His face didn’t close into a pinch of worry, and he didn’t glance around. 

She wanted to know what touch would be next, what he’d do. But he didn’t move after he slid his fingers past her hair. Their gazes held, forming a liquid moment that drenched her with want, a look she didn’t want to break. 

If she calculated the amount of time she and Hiccup looked at one another, it might be a year or more of her life. She could never add up all the glances, the momentary connections they made instinctively, the split seconds where they checked with each other, asking in a single gesture if the other was good, or if they were thinking the same thing - which they usually were. 

But glancing was different from looking, and in that moment by the fire, she was deep diving into his gaze, staring unabashedly at him. She didn’t understand this look, what he was trying to say, why he didn’t move or look away or shift closer. She understood him, but she didn’t understand that moment, what it meant. She knew so much about him, but there was a lot more she wanted to know, wanted to ask. 

Like why he didn’t kiss her already. 

And what he was thinking as he looked at her. 

Or what he thought Ruffnut was up to, what she was trying to accomplish. 

And why he didn’t kiss her. Why wasn’t he moving? 

Any other time their eyes met, she knew in a heartbeat that they were thinking the same thought. Now, they were breathing the same air, so close within the same space, and she had no idea what he was thinking. 

And then, in a blink, the connection was broken. Water poured over them both.

“Ugh, Tuffnut!”

“Get up, you two! You need to judge the diving contest.”

“No, you idiot,” Ruffnut said, pulling herself slowly out of the water, her wet clothing weighing her down. “We have to go hunt Snotlout. He’ll be waiting, all alone, in the dark.” Her voice trailed off into a strange and somewhat sinister laugh. 

“Nope. Not so interested in hunting Snot. Diving off a dragon, however, is a different story - and that is what we should be doing now.” 

“No, thanks, bro. And you can’t fly Barf and Belch without me.”

“Oh, I can’t? Ha. Watch me.”

Their argument continued, but Astrid stopped listening, instead wringing out water from her shirt and pushing her wet braid off her shoulder. She wasn’t drenched, but she was wet enough to be annoyed about it. Hiccup’s clothing had been wet when she’d arrived, and he was back to being wet again, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. 

She couldn’t contain her curiosity in the silence that had taken up residence in the space between them. “What are you thinking about?”

“Swimming.”

Her head jerked back. “Swimming? Now?” She glanced at the water, where Tuffnut stood in churning swirls about waist deep, and Ruffnut stood above him on a rock, arguing with him. “Go ahead.”

“Oh, no. Not now. I’m not so great at swimming.” He shifted his weight and gestured towards his metal leg. “Only one oar.” 

Astrid laughed. 

“Although….”

“Yes?” But Astrid already knew his mind had turned inward, was speeding into the future, probably in the forge blasting away in front of a roaring fire, creating something in his mind from start to finish in the time it took him to breathe. His mind was baffling and frustrating and usually left her confused and in awe. 

Hiccup’s eyes lost their sharp focus and she could tell he was not paying attention to anything going on around them. Ruff and Tuff’s voices were too intrusive for her to ignore, and she stood up, pushing her shoulder armor and the cask hidden beneath back against the rock she’d been leaning on. She had to get up, get away from everyone for a moment, but she didn’t know where to go. 

The rock where she and Hiccup had been the day before was across the pool, hidden in darkness, and she couldn’t look too closely at it without feeling like she needed to dunk her head in the water. It hadn’t been that long ago, an amount of time still measurable in hours, but what had happened between them was so separate from her normal chronology in Berk, from the standard pattern of her life, it felt like ages had passed since then. Yet thinking of it brought a sharpened gasp of heat to her body, like he’d just touched her again.

Astrid felt her cheeks begin to turn red, and heat spread over her neck. She wasn’t embarrassed, she thought as she turned away from the darkened corner of the cove and the memories it contained. She was… overly alert. Like she’d scrubbed her skin with awareness and everything was sensitive and attentive to where he was, what he was doing, whether she could find another handful of minutes alone with him to seize those same feelings again. 

She looked up when a shadow crossed above her. Tuff had successfully talked Barf and Belch into flying him up into the air, away from Ruff, though Barf kept looking down at the ground to check on her. With a roar, Tuff leapt off Belch’s head, tucked his body into a ball, and splashed down into the water. 

Fishlegs, never one to miss a chance to use his creepy ability to sneak up on people, appeared next to her, and his voice made her jump. “You call that a splash? That was pitiful.” 

Tuff scoffed at him. “Oh, yeah? Show me how it’s done, then.”

“Meatlug! Our honor is at stake!”

The surface of the water became even more turbulent as Fishlegs and Tuffnut took turns jumping from their dragons into the pool, each determined to make the biggest splash. Ruff sat on the side and appointed herself the judge - the rather sarcastic judge. 

Astrid made her way back to the fire, unlacing her skirt and placing it on top of her armor. Hiccup was gone. She wasn’t sure where he’d wandered to. She didn’t see him anywhere, or any sign of where he’d wandered. 

Tuffnut dared Fishlegs to leap as high as possible, and demonstrated his challenge with a great deal of noise and instruction. Astrid looked up at them, feeling another shift in time like she had when she stared at the rock she didn’t want to look at again. They were older, and they had all changed, but the sounds were so familiar, like they were kids again, jumping from a cliff into the ocean on a warm afternoon, back when they had no worries beyond cooling off, and hoping they’d avoid another dragon raid that night. 

Astrid looked over at Stormfly, at the dragons helping their riders leap into the air before plummeting into the pool beneath. Most of the changes were good. 

The source of those changes remained missing, and she looked again to see where he’d gone.Maybe she needed to follow Tuffnut and Fishleg’s example: get up and jump. Dive in. Show no fear. Hiccup once joked that jumping off a dragon and falling out of the sky was the extreme but most effective bonding technique for dragons and riders. Maybe she needed to jump and trust he’d catch her, or fly with her. 

He was becoming the guide through which she navigated her day. She frowned. If she was honest with herself, he’d been that for awhile. The sun, the shadows on the cliffs, the moon, and Hiccup: he was a piece of her sky to chart her path. 

Why was she waiting for him to make a move towards her? Why didn’t she just… jump? 

A ferocious cry split the air, escalating to a shriek of panic. Fishlegs overshot his jump, and was in danger of landing on the rocks. Barf and Belch dropped out of the sky and Barf grabbed him by his shorts to safe him. 

“Oh, my Thor. Thanks, Belch.”

“That was Barf, you idiot.”

“Sorry, Ruffnut. Thank you Barf and Belch. I think I need a break.” 

“Then let’s hunt!” Ruffnut thrust her fists into the air, spraying water everywhere. Her clothing was still drenched. She’d make a poor hunter. She made so much noise walking, they probably heard her squishing around back in Berk. 

Barf and Belch landed, and so did Fishlegs, though much less gracefully. Tuff swam to the edge and reached up for a rock to pull himself from the water. Ruff’s voice carried across the darkness. “Here’s what we do: you know our boundaries. You know how Snotlout is likely to hide.”

“Yeah, in a cave so he can drink and fall asleep,” Tuff said. 

“Precisely.” Ruff sounded pleased with herself. “Tuff, you hunt over toward the trees. Fishlegs, you’re hunting through the cliff edge, and I’ll take the meadow and the cliffs on the other side. Astrid, you’re hunting here at the water.”

Astrid opened her mouth to protest being assigned where to hunt, and being told to voluntarily go find Snotlout, but a quick and wicked grin on Ruff’s face stopped her, left her staring, her mouth open in shock. Then, she couldn’t be sure, but it looked like Ruff winked at her before turning toward the meadow. She skidded to a stop near where Toothless lay curled on his side. 

“Toothless! Fire into the air, let Snotlout know we’re coming for him!”

Toothless lifted his head, looking unimpressed. 

After a long pause, Astrid spoke up. “Hey, Toothless, plasma blast, please? Short range at the top of the trees.”

Toothless fired and lit the sky for a moment, then lowered his head to go back to his nap. 

“The hunt is on!” Ruffnut ran into the shadows, and Fishlegs and Tuff slowly made their way in opposite directions. Astrid noticed that each had stopped to refill their mugs with mead before they left. 

She was about to turn and make sure the fire was contained safely when she noticed a shadow moving toward the waterfall. 

Was that Hiccup? 

It had to be. 

Where was he going? 

She followed him, making her way toward the falls.

 


	20. Exploring Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonjour, mes amis. This is a little - no, a lot NFSW. So be careful reading, ok?

Hiccup was chasing himself around the edge of the water. He needed to get away from everyone, from the noise and the splashing, but also from the memories and what they made him think about. Thanks to the twins, he was soaking wet, and as he made his way gingerly over the rocks at the far end of the pool, he pulled off his shirt to wring it out, then tossed it over a tree branch to dry. He kept moving, leaving his shirt behind. He’d have to come back the same way.

His metal leg made for a tricky path. Even though he’d switched to the spike that kept him more steady on slippery surfaces, and he was placing it in the gaps and crevices between the rocks, his progress was slower than he wanted. 

If he remembered correctly, and he was pretty sure he did, there was a cave behind the falls, one that might hold a small hot spring. He’d found it one afternoon when he was much younger, when he’d gone troll hunting while his father focused on fishing and lecturing, neglecting to notice that Hiccup had wandered off, and that Stoick’s lecture was for himself alone. His father’s yell had ended his exploration, but if he was right, around the back of the water fall was a tunnel, and there was a chance he could still fit through the space. 

And if he could, then that’s where he was headed. 

He needed a break. Sometimes, everyone, the noise, the repeated patterns of behavior, the familiarity and the strangeness, was too much. 

The falls roared louder as he approached, becoming a sound and a sensation, the rhythm of it moving through his body, slowing him down further. 

There wasn’t much of a gap between the water and the cliff wall, and too late he realized that not only was he older, but substantially taller than he had been when he’d discovered the cave. He shook his head at himself. Despite how much of his life had changed, he still thought of himself as the gawky, awkward runt, shorter and weaker than the others. 

Well, he wasn’t shorter any more. And if he was weaker than some, he was now much better armed for battle. 

He pressed his back against the cliff wall, the water bouncing everywhere, off every surface, drenching him. With one hand, he reached past the wall of water, feeling along the rock surface hidden from view. 

If he found the cave, if the curve of the cliff still turned and opened inward, could he slide into it or would the force of the water push him off the ledge he stood on and into the water? Could he maneuver himself past the force of the falls to the hidden space that remained? 

His hand felt what he thought was the opening to the cave, the stone cold under his fingers, the curve of the rock giving him something to grasp. 

If he pulled himself through the water, there would either be a cave, or he’d go flying into the pool, and possibly drown because metal was not terribly conducive to swimming, and no one would hear him shout if he managed to make a sound. 

“Hiccup. What are you doing?” 

Hiccup flinched, jerked back, and knocked his head on the cliff wall. 

“Ow! Astrid? How did you sneak up on me?”

“It was easy.” She frowned at him as he rubbed the back of his hair. “You never hear anything when you’re thinking that hard. What are you doing? It’s a short jump to the water from here.”

“I’m not jumping. I think there’s a cave back here. Or, there was.”

Astrid’s face lit with curiosity. “Really? Well, that’s worth finding. Here, step aside and I’ll go check it out.” 

What followed was a tense and exhilarating moment. Astrid faced him and stepped around his body, her legs on either side of his as she slid past him. Her shirt, cool and damp, pressed against his bare chest and stomach as she climbed past where he stood.  

And then it happened again, a moment where he looked over as she turned to him, a breath or two in time, and knew in that instant she felt the same way he did. Only it wasn’t exasperation or confusion, or a moment to check that they agreed what the next move, the next attack might be. In that moment they turned toward one another, they were both burning, and the feeling grew and took hold of him painfully, to know he wasn’t alone in how he felt. 

There were moments when he could swear they had the same thought, the same exact words in mind, a shared reaction in a single breath. He’d look at her just as she turned to him and find the same question in her expression. He never had that with anyone. It happened over and over, so frequently it was as if they had always been this way. _Do you understand this? No? Me neither._

When their eyes met this time, it was in questioning agreement: _Does being this close get to you? Yeah, me too._

He felt confident of her answer, in the momentary flush of her cheeks and the way her eyes widened. Then, with a low growl, she was gone, pulling herself past him, through the water, and into the hidden space behind the falls. 

“Is it there?”

He heard the sound of her answer, but the words were melted into the sound of her voice by the overwhelming rush of water that stood between them. She might be stuck, or she might be telling him to get over there already. 

With a shrug, he pulled himself into the force of the falls. The rushing water covered his eyes, making it difficult to keep his head upright. With the spike on his left leg, he pushed himself, levering each step carefully in the craggy rock beneath his feet, hoping he’d reach the space behind the falls. 

Then Astrid’s hands found his arm, and pulled him out of the water. She also pulled him off balance, and he fell forward onto her, pressing her back against the opposite wall, his arms reaching for any surface, any handhold to keep him from hurting her. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, his breathing uneven. 

“Nah, my fault.” Her hands quickly slid over his stomach and around his waist, pulling him closer as he regained his balance. He was quick to place his left leg behind him, to keep the spike away from her. His hands gripped the wall behind her, and it took a moment for his eyesight to adjust to the darkness, for his brain to realize that beyond the immediate touch and fire of Astrid’s hands on his skin, they were standing in the cave he’d been looking for.

“How’d you know this cave was here?”

“Found it years ago, and didn’t remember it until tonight.”

Astrid nodded, looking around. Her posture was wary, almost tactical, her eyes scanning the wavering column of daylight that marked the space they’d used to enter. There was no similar space on the other side. The rock wall extended out past the falls, so that way led only to noise and darkness.

Hiccup turned and looked deeper into the cave. The ceiling was lower, because he was taller, but the space seemed the same as it had when he’d done a cursory exploration before hearing his father yelling his name. It narrowed, then maybe opened up beyond the dripping wall. It was humid and warmer than he remembered. 

“Is there a hot spring back there?”

“I think so, but I’m not sure. Never got that far.” 

It was a difficult choice - explore the cave, or explore the more tempting possibility that stood within his reach. 

Astrid made the choice for him. “I’ll go see.”

“You’re not going without me,” he replied, his hands on his hips. 

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Of course not. Come on.” 

The path through the narrowed rock wall was difficult. The light disappeared quickly. The ground was sloped and coated with slime and water, and he used his arms as much as he used his legs to navigate the sharp turn and slow descent. 

Astrid’s voice came from the darkness in front of him. “Sounds like a hot spring. Smells like one, too.”

There was no light available, and even if he had any kindling, it would have been saturated and useless. “Can you see anything?”

“Nope.” 

“I don’t want to go any farther, since I might not be able to climb back out.”

“Good call. We can come back with wrapped torches and explore then.” 

Astrid turned around faster than he did, and walked straight into him. He caught his balance on the wall behind them as she grabbed onto him to keep from falling. “Sorry.”

“Please don’t be.” Hiccup closed his eyes, groaning internally. He had to stop speaking to Astrid without thinking first. Her laugher slid through his body, covering the slight burn of embarrassment with heat of a different kind. 

 She moved closer, more of her body aligning with his, the fabric of her shirt and her leggings pressing against his belly. She’d removed her shoulder armor, and her skirt, so nothing she wore held sharpened metal, meant to defend against attacks. She was curves, warmth and softness. 

Her hands moved up his stomach, across his chest, and he had to remind himself that breathing in followed breathing out, then breathing in again. He wanted to freeze everything, even the air in his lungs, stop everything around him so he could try to focus, to not lose his train of thought, his control. 

Her touch turned to fire. Sometimes, being close to Astrid, the heat between them built slowly, but her hands on his skin were like stray dragon fire on dry kindling. He wasn’t able to ignore his reaction or control it. 

He could hear her slow breaths, long inhales as if she were catching his scent as she learned the texture of his chest, his shoulders, her fingertips following the ridge of his collarbone. His own breathing was unsteady, and he tried to pull back from her, to give himself enough room to regain control of himself, of his heartbeat, his mind, and his body. But the wall of rock behind him didn’t move. 

When he shifted positions, his leg slipped, and he pushed Astrid away, afraid the metal spike would hurt her. He forgot how strong, how determined, how immovable she was. He caught his balance by forcing his weight onto his left leg, digging the spike into what felt like a crack in the rock beneath them, and then shifting so he stood more on his right. Astrid ignored his efforts to push her, and instead pushed him against the rock, holding him up with her body and her hands. He reached for her, his hands finding the curve of her hip.

“You ok?” Her voice was soft, her face very close to his in the darkness. He felt her words move over his cheek. 

“Yeah. Sorry about that. I - “ He slipped again, and this time caught himself by letting go of Astrid and grabbing the rocky ledge behind him with both hands. “We should probably… we should go back, I think.”

“Are you good? Not going anywhere?”

He tested his position. He wasn’t sliding, but he needed all four limbs to keep himself up. “Yeah, I’m stable. I have to hold on to the wall, though, so you go first.”

Her reply was an enigma to him. “Go first. Hmmm.”

“Astrid?”

He couldn’t see her. He could hear her, could feel the heat from her skin when she wasn’t touching him, but he didn’t know where she was exactly. He didn’t want to move for fear he’d bump into her, or cause her to fall.

“Are you in any pain?”

“What? No, no - I’m fine. I’m good for now. You go first and I’ll climb out after you.”

“In a minute.”

“Wait, what -” Her hands covered his. “Astrid. What are you doing?”

“You have to hold onto the wall to stay upright, is that correct?”

“Probably? It’s pretty slick, so -“

“Good. Stay there.”

“Stay here? Wait. What are you - what are you doing?”

Her hands began a determined slide up over his wrists. Slowly, he felt her fingers tracing his biceps, following the taut muscles, flexed in an effort to keep him stable on the ground. 

Oh, Gods. He felt her tongue, her lips, tracing over his shoulder and across his collarbone to the curve of his neck. 

“Astrid, wait.”

“No, I don’t think I’m waiting for anything.”

“Someone might -“

Her lips moved over his neck, her words entwined with the molten touch of her tongue on his skin. “No one knows where we are.”

He swallowed, tried to speak. She didn’t let him continue. 

“Snotlout is hiding somewhere, and Ruff, Tuff, and Fishlegs are hunting him in opposite directions. No one knows we’re here.” 

She bit him. He gasped, and tried to let go of the wall so he could touch her, feel her skin beneath his hands instead of cold, sharp rock. But the moment he let go, he started to slide. 

Astrid pressed her body against his again to keep him upright, and used her hands to move his back to the wall until he grabbed hold of the rock behind him again. 

“Stay there.” Her whisper was sharp against his skin, then followed by the edge of her teeth sliding down the side of his neck. Her hands moved away from his after making sure he wasn’t letting go. Her fingertips came to rest on his sides, above the waistband of his leggings. Her thumbs traced the contours of his stomach, running over the thin trail of hair below his navel.

“Astrid-“

“What?”

“I don’t - I can’t… you….”

“You’re not making sense.”

“Of course I’m not!”

Her laughter was a gentle rush of air on his collarbone, followed by the heat of the tip of her tongue tracing his neck again.  

Her hands lifted from his waist, and he missed the warmth the moment he lost it. But then her fingertips landed on his nipples, brushing over them, then pinching lightly, and he began to shake. 

“You like that.”

Hiccup had to lick his lips twice before he remembered how to speak words in coherent order. “I like anything you do, probably.”

“Probably?”

“Astrid, what - what are you-”

Her mouth found his in the darkness, and it was agony to kiss her, to taste her and not be able to move his hands, to move his body closer to hers. Her kiss was fierce, determined, and he could feel her smiling as she slowly moved away. 

“Revenge. No axe required.”

“Revenge? Wait, you… won’t-“

“Hiccup.” The sound of his name made him shiver. Her voice, rough and eager, was so similar to how she’d sounded when she… when they were…. “Don’t argue with me.”

He couldn’t even think coherently, much less come up with an argument. He just didn’t want to…if she…

Her voice again interrupted the fragmented thoughts he was chasing in his mind. “Do you want me to stop?”

He shook his head, then remembered she couldn’t see him. He whispered into the darkness, fear and anticipation mixing in his blood. “No.”

Her mouth moved over his again, slowly, then with more heat, more…everything, before she answered. “Good.”

His hands gripped the rock wall behind him as if it were the only thing keeping him alive. Her hands slid over his chest, teasing and pinching his nipples as she feasted on his neck, his mouth, the line of his jaw. 

His back, pressed against damp stone, was cold, but everywhere that Astrid touched was fire, molten lava pouring over his skin. She moved closer to him, the fabric of her shirt ruffling the hairs on his stomach, causing him to gasp. 

She moved closer still, sliding her hips in a slow, gentle circle against his erection. He saw stars against his eyelids, and tried desperately to slow his heartbeat, to turn his mind away from picturing what he couldn’t see, what was happening beneath the shadows that covered them both. 

He’d managed to start listing dragons by classification and size when her hands drifted down his chest, her fingertips following the contours of the muscles that lined his hips, making him gasp.  

“Astrid….” He had no voice. He gasped and kept trying to breathe, to not let go of the wall and fall down into the murky darkness beyond them, to keep himself from losing all control of himself. He wanted her to stop for a moment, to let him catch his breath, to let him find his heartbeat again… and he knew he would die if she did. 

Her fingers dipped below the waistband of his leggings. He bit his lips to keep from moaning aloud. 

“Hiccup. May I touch you?”

Words. He knew what he wanted to say. Had to find one. He couldn’t nod; she wouldn’t see him. 

“Please, may I?” 

He dropped his head, and his forehead met her braid, resting over her shoulder. More of her to touch. The scent of her hair, the softness of it, reminded him to speak. “Gods, yes, please. Please.”

Her laugh was soft, and made them both tremble. “Are you sure? You didn’t answer at first.”

“Forgot. Forgot how to talk.” 

Her laugh was warmth and sunlight in his imagination, the sound encircling them both, running over the stone walls in a happy echo.  

She turned her head, her cheek resting against his. He moved to feel more of her skin against his. He wanted to touch her, to make her feel the torment he did, but he couldn’t let go of the wall. It was revenge, indeed. 

Her hands slid below the loose waistband of his leggings, pulling the fabric away from his skin so the damp air and the monstrous heat of her touch overwhelmed his senses. 

“Astrid.” There was something he needed to say. He knew he - 

She froze. “Do you want me to stop?”

This time, when he shook his head, he knew she could feel the movement, understand what he meant. “I won’t…. When you…if you…your hands, I won’t be…you’ll….” 

It was all wrong, and he clenched his jaw, trying to make his mind work while her hands moved over the curve of his hips and pulled him closer, the ridge of his erection painfully close and yet far from her touch. 

“I want to touch you. May I, please? Now?”

Unable to explain, he nodded, one word on his lips in a faint whisper. “Please.” 

His world coalesced into the anticipation and fiery trail of her fingers, curled against his skin as her hands moved forward between them. His forehead rested on her shoulder, and his hands were aching as they gripped the two ledges of rock. He might leave permanent indents from his fingers. 

Her whisper in his ear was faint, but he heard her as if she were the only sound, as if the rush of the waterfall beyond them didn’t sound like the downpour of a massive storm, unrelenting in its rhythm and roar. “I’ve wanted to, wanted to touch you, and never knew if I could.”

He huffed out a laugh. She could have, but he would have lost his ability to think and might have passed out. He might pass out now. 

Oh, Gods. What if he did? What if he fell? Would she be hurt? 

Where was his leg, was it far away from her? How far was the wall behind her? What -

Her hand slid over him, measuring his length with her fingers, then curving around his erection before squeezing gently. “Gods, Hiccup.”

If any and all available gods were to help him not make a complete fool of himself at that moment, Hiccup would have counted himself beyond fortunate, and would have never asked for another favor from any of them for the rest of his life. 

Perhaps one of the gods heard his thought, his wish for one more moment of torment, then another, because his heart raced, his mind spun, and his world was Astrid, the scent of her hair, and the touch of her hands as she explored his body. Still, he remained upright, and, for the most part, conscious. 

“I had - you’re….” Astrid moved her hand. Her fingertips curled around him and slid down, the heel of her palm pressing against the tip, and he bit his lips. 

Oh, Gods. 

His heart stopped when he heard her whisper in his ear. “Will you show me? Show me what to do? Wait, no, you can’t move.”

“What you did. Just now, again. Please.”

“This?” Her palm slid down his rigid flesh, every part of her touch a fire and intensity he’d never experienced. Her fingers shifted, squeezing slightly, before she moved her hand upward. 

“Oh, Gods, that. Yes.”

Slowly, her hand slid down, then up. His eyes were squeezed tightly closed, pressed against her neck, his mouth moving soundlessly as she stroked and explored him. Her fingertips traced the head, followed the rigid curves before enclosing him in the heat and strength of her hand.

She gripped his flesh more tightly and moved her hand over him in a hot, narrow slide, and he was done for. Hiccup gasped, relinquishing control, his body shuddering, his fingers gripping the rock so painfully he wanted to let go, and yet could not. Fire and heat burst through the seams of his body, rocketing through his legs, his arms, his back, and he could have sworn he saw the light blue of her eyes, the beautiful curve of her smile in the moment when he came. 

When he could find the air to speak, his mouth and lips had gone dry, and he had to work to make sense. “Oh, Gods, Astrid. I… I’m-“

“If you say you’re sorry, I will leave you here.”

He bit his lips again, laughing. Then he felt her kiss on his cheek, the curve of her smile against his face as she spoke. “Thank you.”

Had she gone mad? “What? Why - why are you thanking me? I - you -“

Her lips met his, and he drank in the knowledge that she’d wanted to touch him, that she’d wanted to make him feel like he was coming apart. 

“Think you can walk?” Her voice was a curl of laughter. 

“Maybe?”

“I, uh… I think there’s flat rock behind you to your left,” she said quietly. 

“Are you kidding me?” 

She was right. There had been level ground, a place where he could have stood and been able to touch her the way she’d been touching him, only a step away from them, and he hadn’t known. He slid his metal leg forward, pivoted, and pulled himself onto the platform. He was still out of breath and a little dizzy as he used the fabric of his leggings to wipe his hands, and his skin. His palms and fingertips stung, and he could feel his pulse throbbing through little cuts on both hands. He didn’t care.

She stepped up beside him, but when she reached for him, she found his hand. He flinched, and she jerked away with a gasp. 

“Hiccup, are your hands bleeding?”

“Probably.”

“Oh, Gods, I’m sorry -“

He laughed. “I’m not. Just…can’t touch you right now.” 

“Hmmm. I can touch you; you can’t touch me. I like this pattern.” 

She kissed him, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her as close as he could without using his hands. 

“My turn for revenge?”

“I hope so,” she replied, her laughter echoing behind them. 

Using the wall as a guide, they made their way toward the thundering roll of the waterfall. He could see her face in the dim, shifting light. “Why didn’t you tell me to move, to go where I could stand?”

She shrugged. “I wanted you all to myself.”

He stopped, squinting against the brightness. “There was no one else here.” 

She leaned in, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I wanted you at my mercy.”

He shivered a moment, then smiled. “You got your wish.”

Her smile answered his. “I did indeed.”

He touched the tip of her nose with his. “I will get you for that.”

“Excellent.” 

 


	21. The Cousin of Anger

Astrid was beginning to think that pouring torrents of water, whether from a thunderstorm or a waterfall, were her favorite sound. The downpour of a storm made her think of that one dark afternoon in the forge, where Hiccup, concerned for her safety and his, had nearly pulled off half her clothing before he realized what he was doing. A fierce and instant heat like lightning had sparked between them the moment he had looked up at her with awareness of what he’d done. 

The waterfall would now probably set off a similar reaction in her memory. The sound of the falls had been the backdrop to two of the most intense moments of her life so far. 

She glanced at Hiccup as they made their way out of the cave, this time only getting slightly wet instead of drenched as they exited through the narrow gap between the water and the cliff wall. Moving from the shadows into the sunlit cove was a lot easier than going from light into unknown darkness. The saturation of sunlight, though, after having been in the dark for so long, gave everything a pale, bleached appearance.

Not everything. Hiccup’s face wasn’t pale. 

His face was entirely red, a flush covering his cheeks and his neck. 

Was he embarrassed? 

Looking down to pick her way around the rocks and puddles at the edge of the water, she frowned. Why would he be embarrassed? 

She wasn’t. Not now, not the day before. 

Astrid alternated between watching her path to make sure she didn’t fall into the water, and watching Hiccup and examining his face. She was baffled as to why he looked so troubled. 

His worry seemed to be increasing the closer they got to the campfire. The furrow between his brows grew deeper, and the red on his face had spread to his neck and chest. She followed the trail of freckles across his shoulders, not realizing until she glanced up at his face that he was watching her as she stared at him. 

When their eyes met, she felt her own face begin to burn. 

So not fair. 

His half smile wobbled on his face before he looked down. 

What was with him? All that had changed was that they’d left the cave, which was right over there, and walked from the darkness into the sunlight over here. 

What was his problem?

Hiccup turned away from her and headed toward a tree to reach up and retrieve his shirt. Astrid folded her arms over her chest, trying to think of how to ask him what was on his mind without sounding annoyed. 

But when he walked away, and she saw the dimples on his lower back above the waistband of his leggings, her annoyance melted in the heat that flared inside her. Someday, she wanted to trace them with the tip of her tongue. She wanted to taste the rest of him as well, she thought, allowing herself a long, wandering examination of his hips, his back, the curve of his spine, the lean contours of his muscles, and of his backside. 

When he put his shirt on, the view disappeared, and annoyance surged to replace the liquid heat that had begun to spread through her limbs. Her eyes narrowed, and she unconsciously reached for her axe, which she didn’t have with her. She wasn’t even wearing armor, and suddenly felt very underdressed given the strength of her emotions. She wanted to stalk Hiccup across the small stand of trees, tie him up, and demand an explanation. 

She was within arm’s reach when he turned around. He jumped back in surprise. 

“Astrid. What are you - what’s wrong?”

She glared at him, tilting her head. He still seemed embarrassed, troubled, as if he regretted what had happened, or was worrying about it. 

No. She was not going to wonder. She was going to ask. 

Now. Right now. 

She was going to find out what the problem was, and fix it. Without her axe, though she wanted it in her hand. For comfort. 

“You look angry. What - why are you upset?”

Why was it so much easier for him to ask, to find the words? She took a deep breath, steeled her spine, envisioning herself in her mind about to throw at a target on the other side of the island, and spoke. 

“My mom thinks I’m learning to cook.” 

That wasn’t what she’d wanted to say. 

Her mental axe had flown into a tree, apparently. Or it wasn’t sharp enough to go anywhere. 

“Wait, what?”

“No, that’s not what I wanted to say. I mean, I wanted to tell you that, but that’s not what I meant right now.”

Hiccup shook his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. 

She was going to make sense, and she was going to find out what the trouble was, and it would be a lot easier if annoyance and arousal weren’t at war inside her blood, trying to force her to react in anger or… in the opposite of anger.

Maybe anger wasn’t the opposite to this… tense awareness. Maybe they were more like cousins. Her pulse flew, her breathing moved faster, just like when she lost her temper. But she wasn’t angry. 

Except she was, kind of. She was mad he looked so embarrassed. What did he have to be embarrassed about?

She opened her mouth and made herself speak, hoping she made sense this time. “Why are you so red?”

“What?”

“Your face, it’s red.” The words poured out of her mouth, a waterfall of humiliation and incoherence. “You look like you’re embarrassed, and I don’t get it. Are you angry? At me? Why are _you_ upset?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you!” She was going to hit him with her axe. Or a tree branch. Maybe then he’d understand. 

“I… I mean, you….” 

Astrid bit her lips and held in a sigh. Hiccup stuttering meant this conversation was about to become even more unclear. 

“Hiccup, are you embarrassed?”

He threw his arms up, hands out, and his voice echoed across the water. “Of course I’m embarrassed!” Then he buried his hands in his hair, covering his face for moment in the bend of his arms. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I have no idea why you are. I’m sorry if I did everything wrong….”

He lowered his arms slowly and gaped at her. “Did everything wrong?”

She looked at the ground. This wasn’t helping, and now she’d made everything between them more confusing and messy than it needed to be. How come she had no ability to blast through the space between them when it was muddied by confusion and misunderstanding, but she could neatly chop things in two from a distance of ten times her own height? Why was closer so much more difficult?

He slowly lifted his hands, placing them on her upper arms, and drawing her in to stand closer to him. She still looked down, but now she saw the fabric of his shirt, his rumpled leggings, the mud splattered on the metal spike of his leg as he moved it away from her.

He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. His mouth was just above her bangs, and his breath ruffled her hair. His hands squeezed her arms for a moment before he spoke, his words sounding like they were fired on an arrow from deep inside him, flying out of his mouth so quickly she almost missedthem. 

“The minute you touched me, I lost control. That’s… mortifying.”

She moved back a bit and looked up, making sure not to bump his chin. He looked miserable. “Why?”

“Why what? Why’d I lose control?”

“No, I kind of figured that part out. You never let me near you, so….”

Hiccup closed his eyes, red covering his cheeks again, and Astrid poked him in the side. “Can you please explain? I don’t understand.”

He met her gaze and froze, only for a moment, but that part she understood. The connection between them was as intoxicating as usual, even when mixed with frustration and confusion. How come it was so clear, so easy sometimes, and the next minute there was mud and rocks between them? 

Her voice was soft. “Why are you embarrassed? Are you… do you not want me to-”

“No!” His voice was as quiet as hers, but low and intense. “Not at all.”

“I’m….” She glanced away, then back at him, searching for the right words. “I don’t get it. Do you not want-“

His eyes widened, and the murky confusion between them in her imagination cleared a little as he lowered his head toward hers. “I always want you near me. I’m just… I didn’t….”

She studied the red flush that deepened across his face, the pinch of his mouth and the furrow that reappeared between his brows, and thought about what he’d said. 

Then she understood. She smiled at him, slowly, and slid her hands around his waist, under his shirt so she could feel the warmth of his skin again. “I think the best solution is more practice.”

He looked at her, humor more than embarrassment showing on his face. “Like sparring.”

“Very much like sparring,” she replied. “Different weapon, though.”

He laughed aloud, and pulled her towards him, tucking her into the space between his arms, beneath his chin. She had been so irritated when she’d realized he was taller than she was, that she’d never catch up, given how fast he grew. But she liked the space he created for her, and now, with no armor or weapons to stop her body from pressing against his, she liked it more. She felt him kiss her hair, and mumble an apology. 

As she inhaled deeply the scent of his shirt, and the sharpness of the pine trees around him, she decided she should find a way to spend more time with him wearing less armor. And less clothing. Actual weapon training required weapons, and armor. Perhaps she could find time and space for other sparring, with less clothing involved. 

It didn’t help matters that she was aroused and a little frustrated internally, that the solid warmth of his body reminded her of their slight separation by two thin layers of fabric between them. She wanted that time, that space of quiet and fewer layers right then. Immediately. 

But she could hear voices through the trees, shouts that meant the others were returning to the fire, or looking for them. 

They moved apart, and she picked up one of his hands to examine it. “Ouch. You scraped your hands pretty badly.”

“I needed something to keep me upright.” 

She looked up at him and smiled, then brought his hand to her lips to kiss his palm, the tip of her tongue darting out to taste his skin. He gasped slightly, and his hand reflexively formed a fist, like he was holding in the sensation of her touch and keeping it for himself. 

Wouldn’t that be a useful ability, she thought to herself. She could carry his touch with her back to her room that night, save it for later. 

His hand brushed hers as they turned to walk back to the campsite. “So…your mom thinks you’re learning to cook?”

Astrid nodded. “It was Sigrid’s idea.”

"Sigrid?"

"Yeah, she figured out I was with you, and said she'd tell my mother she was teaching me."

“Didn’t she try to teach you to cook a few years ago?”

“Yes. Wait. Are you saying I can’t cook?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes narrowed, and her lips pursed. She knew he was right, but that didn’t make it sting any less, or make her want to smack him with her axe any less, either. 

“I mean, someone will want to know what you’ve learned. If the lessons aren’t real, if you haven’t learned anything, it’ll be… suspicious when you can’t cook something.”

His explanation wasn’t sufficient, but she let it go. He was right. She burnt most of the food she tried to cook. “So? Who’s going to ask?” 

He shrugged. “Anyone who knows you’re getting lessons from Sigrid? She’s a great cook. Someone might ask you to make something for them so they don’t have to ask her.” 

“Sigrid?”

“Astrid. She’s your mom’s sister. She’s at least half as scary as your mother.”

Astrid shrugged. 

“So… what are you going to do?”

“About what?”

“You have to make sure whatever you say is mostly true.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you’re going to lie effectively, you have to set it up so that what you’re saying is partly true, or at least possible.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” 

“How do you know so much about effective lying?”

“Practice?”

“Who have you been lying to?”

“Not you.”

“Obviously. I can tell when you’re lying. I don’t know how you convince anyone else. You’re a terrible liar.”

“Only to you.”

Astrid glanced at him, doubtful.  

“I can teach you some things, though.”

“About lying?”

“No. Well, yes, but I meant cooking.”

They made their way through the trees slowly. Hiccup told her to come to the forge later, where he could show her some easy things he cooked over the forge fire, which was always hot and left burning constantly. 

“You cook in the forge?”

“All the time.”

“What do you eat, nails and metal?”

“Yes. Both of those things.”

Astrid laughed. It would explain Gobber’s rock tooth. 

“I do make bread, though.”

“We do need more bread-making vikings,” she replied with a smile. 

“I never should have told you about that.” 

“Bread is really difficult.”

“No, not really. It’s in the timing and the warmth. The forge is a great place to make it. I’ll show you tonight.” 

Hearing Hiccup saying the word “tonight,” with anticipation and happiness in his voice, made her feel molten inside. Maybe she wouldn’t have to imagine carrying his touch home with her after all. 

 

…

 

 

When they reached the campfire, Snotlout was there, by himself, covered in leaves and twigs and looking utterly lost. 

“Snotlout? What happened to you?” 

“I have no idea. One minute I’m walking in the woods, and the next I’m upside down in a trap, dangling by one leg from a pine tree, and no one, not any one of you, comes to help me. You didn’t hear me yelling?”

“The falls are, uh, pretty loud.” Hiccup was rubbing his hand over is mouth, probably trying to keep himself from laughing. 

“I heard you.” Fishlegs appeared behind him, looking annoyed.

“Would you stop that, Fishface? Sneaking up on people is so uncool.”

“Uh huh. So is yelling at me to go away when I’m trying to get you down from the tree you were stuck in.”

“I didn’t yell at you to go away.” Snotlout looked at Fishlegs’ face closely. “Are you playing a joke on me?”

“No, though it’s tempting,” Fishlegs replied, picking up his vest and gathering up his things. “I tried to help, and you yelled at me to get lost. So I did.”

“I did not! I was yelling for help!” 

Tuff strode into the campfire, his hands on his hips. “So! I see young Snotlout has been found! Excellent. My turn to hide!”

“No, sorry, have to go home.” Fishlegs hurried over to Meatlug, waking her up as gently but quickly as he could. “Too much preparation going on. If I’m not back, my mom might decide to make me a new shirt for the wedding.”

Tuffnut and Hiccup shuddered in sympathy. Fishlegs’ mother was very prodigious, if not talented or mathematically accurate, in her attempts to make clothing for people. They’d all received strange, uneven shirts and tunics at one point or another. 

“Yeah, better she sticks to a scarf,” Tuff said. Then his face brightened. “Or maybe socks. One sock. For a metal foot. Right, Hiccup?”

Hiccup shook his head but didn’t answer. “Where’s Ruffnut?”

“I’m right here,” a sullen, grouchy voice said from the trees. 

Snotlout exploded at her. “Where have you been? You set up this stupid game, and tell me to go hide, and then I’m hanging from a tree for hours?”

“It wasn’t hours,” she replied, snarling at him. “And it would have been a lot less if - never mind.”

Tuffnut, unfortunately for her, had overheard. “A lot less if what, sister mine?”

“Don’t worry about it. We have to go. Get on your half of the dragon already.”

Tuffnut argued with her, but complied with her command, and in a moment Barf and Belch were airborne behind Meatlug, heading toward the sunset, their riders all shouting arguments across the clouds.

“So, hey. Astrid. Want to help me get these leaves out of my, uh, hair?”

“Ew. No. Don’t even ask me that.” Astrid really wanted her axe at that moment. “Unless you want me to help by chopping off your limbs.”

Snotlout leered at her, the effect ruined by the long twig he was pulling from his hair.

Astrid and Hiccup packed up the remains of their meal, and put out the fire. Snotlout didn't help much, aside from grumbling and removing bits of the forest from his hair before waking up Hookfang and flying back to Berk.

Astrid tried to think of a reason to stay, a reason to keep Hiccup there so she'd have more time to herself, but there was no explanation she could think to give if someone asked, and someone would ask, why everyone else had returned without the two of them. So a few minutes after Snotlout left, after Hiccup checked the fire and attached the baskets to Toothless' saddle, they were airborne, flying home.

 

 

 

 


	22. Cold Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW, so be aware. Merci!

When they landed, Hiccup mumbled something about his house, and about meeting her in the forge in a few minutes. Before she could reply, Toothless had leapt into the air again, his wings sweeping in a large arc up the hill to land in front of the chief’s home. Hiccup ran inside, and Astrid shrugged. She’d figure out what he was up to later. 

After leaving food in the stables for Stormfly, and making sure her dragon had fresh bedding, Astrid ran to the forge. As she approached, she realized the fire was high, that light was pouring from the windows, spilling in gold puddles all over the courtyard. The sun was still up - it wouldn’t set for weeks yet - but the fire was brighter than the light coming from the horizon, which cast the forge in shadow. The flames danced in the windows, and it was welcoming and a little spooky. 

Had Hiccup made it to the forge before she did? He might have flown, though he usually walked short distances whenever possible. He’d never said anything, but she knew he didn’t want anyone to think that flying was the only way he could get around, that he couldn’t walk or run on his metal leg. Why anyone would think that was beyond her, but Hiccup was always wary of what the villagers thought of him. That part she understood. 

Astrid ran to the door and opened it, expecting to see Hiccup, but instead, she was greeted by a large sweaty man without a shirt on, his long mustache pinned to the top of his helmet with two large clamps, cursing as he tried to yank a molten broadsword out of the fire. 

He pushed his mask back and smiled at her, rock tooth gleaming in the blaze in front of him. 

“Evening, Astrid! What can I do for ye?”

Astrid’s first thought was one she couldn’t speak aloud, and would never in her life say to Gobber: _Leave, so I can lock Hiccup in his workroom and keep him there with me for three or four hours._

Another thought collided with that one, pushing it aside. Where was Hiccup? Was he not coming? 

Recalling that Hiccup had told her that a good lie was partially true, Astrid smiled at Gobber. “I’m looking for Hiccup. We’re going to cook - he said he bakes bread here, and he wanted to show me.”

“Oh, aye. We do. Quite a feast we have, too.”

Astrid felt tongue tied, unsure of what to say - and it wasn’t a familiar feeling. She was unsettled, not anxious, but impatient. Really impatient.

“Does your axe need sharpening?”

She looked down, surprised it was in her hand. “Yeah, probably.” 

“Hiccup will take care of you, don’t you worry.”

Astrid flushed from the top of her head to her feet. The flush grew worse when she the words, _Gods, I hope so_ , echoed in her mind. 

She found a place to stand where she was lit by the fire and able to see everything, but not so close she felt her face burning more than it already was. She had light enough to see, but was not so covered in light that her discomfort was obvious. 

Gobber resumed working with the sword in front of him, talking as he worked and filling the air with comfortable nonsense, all comments and stories she didn’t need to respond to, thank Odin.

She couldn’t find a comfortable place, a position that wasn’t irritating. She had to wear her armor so as not to attract attention. It would be odd for her to be seen without it, like it would be odd to see Hiccup without Toothless. 

But she didn’t want to wear it. She wanted the freedom of movement, of soft stretches of fabric and the barrier of wool between them, not metal and armor and spikes designed to keep people away, to keep everyone at a distance. She wanted no armor, no separation, no metal defenses…but only with Hiccup. He was allowed past the metal, past the armor, past the physical defenses she carried with her. 

She wanted him past everything. 

She wasn’t sure how to remove any of it without attracting attention. 

Then she remembered. A good lie is mostly true. 

“I need to check my armor - it seems uneven. Ok if I do that here?”

“Oh, sure, sure. Need help?”

“Nah, I’m good. I think one of the rivets isn’t holding. “

“Aye, well, you get good use out of that armor. Leave it with us, and we can fashion a new bolt, maybe one that will be better able to handle the wearing.”

“Thanks, Gobber.” She pulled off her armor, and handed it to Gobber. 

She jumped up to sit on the table like she usually did when Hiccup was working. Shoulder armor off, no problem. Her skirt would be more difficult. 

“What are you working on?” 

Gobber came back into the main room from his storage closet where he’d stored her armor, wiping his hands on his apron. 

“Oh, this and that, fixing and building. A lot of stuff for the wedding this week, gifts and the like. Plus the sword. You know how it is.”

“Sword? But this is her second marriage.”

“Aye, ’tis. But tradition, you know. Hoark asked Hiccup to make sure his sword was sharp enough to pierce the main post in the great hall. I’m sure Hiccup turned it into a crossbow or something crazy.”

The image of Hiccup hefting a sword to throw it straight into the main pillar of the great hall, a ritual alluding not at all subtly to virility — his virility — made Astrid flush again, but also called up a small knot of ice in her stomach. When Gobber spoke again, the knot grew worse.

“Have you seen it? Ask Hiccup to show it to you. It’s something.”

Hiccup entered the forge on cue, his face flushed like he’d been running, his breathing uneven. “What’s something?”

“You rebuilt Hoark’s sword?” Astrid growled internally. She’d wanted to greet him, but other words showed up first. 

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool. Want to see?”

He found the sword in Gobber’s storage closet and brought it out. He’d sharpened it, honing the blade until it looked like a cross between a sword and a spear, with a tapered end that almost matched the sharpness of the needles Hiccup had made her the previous year. 

He hefted it over one shoulder, narrowed his eyes, and threw. The sword flew straight through the air and buried itself in the wooden post holding the tool rack, the end quivering. 

Astrid frowned. “Why isn’t there an axe or sword for the wife?”

Hiccup shrugged. 

Gobber answered her. “It’s the way it is, lass. Being a viking wife comes with a whole other set of responsibilities, not usually involving swords too much.”

 The ball of ice in her stomach grew in size, and she pressed her lips together against the discomfort. Hiccup noticed, his eyes narrowing, but he didn’t say anything. 

He pulled the sword out of the wall and polished it with a cloth before putting it back in the closet. When he returned, he was holding her shoulder armor. “What’s this doing in here?”

“The bolt is loose,” Astrid said, hopping off the table, hoping he wouldn’t examine it and reveal that it was perfectly secure. 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah, the layers shift and the edges catch sometimes when I practice.” Astrid could hear how badly her voice betrayed her, how uneasy and stiff she sounded, and shut her mouth. 

Hiccup looked bemused. “We can definitely fix that.”

“Aye, I told her you’d take care of her trouble when she came in,” Gobber said, the evident pride in his voice, and the images his words brought to mind, making her turn red again. She needed to leave the forge, take her frustration and go home. 

Then Hiccup moved close behind her. “Hold still. I want to check the fit.” 

He lowered the armor over her shoulders, holding it in place with one hand but not fastening it. “So it shifts here?”

She felt his fingertips, hot like coals, touch her skin above the neckline of her shirt, tracing the fabric toward her shoulder. She steeled her stomach, her back, every muscle, to keep from shivering. 

“No, not there-“

Hiccup moved his hand. “You mean here?”

His hand covered her skin below her sleeve, above her gauntlets, and she couldn’t stop herself from shifting her weight back, allowing her body to brush against his once, then again. She nodded. 

His voice was low in her ear, and she could tell he was concentrating, though she wasn’t sure if he was focused on her armor, or on her skin below it. “Hold them in place?”

She crossed her arms and held the plates of metal over her shoulders, and felt his subtle movements as he examined the bolt, the ties that held it in place, and the armor itself. She knew it wasn’t broken; it was fine - better than fine. But he acted as if it were, lifting then moving each piece. When he breathed, slow and steady, she felt the warmth of it on the back of her neck, and she wanted to turn around. 

She couldn’t. She’d made this lie, and she had to stand beneath it. 

“Hmmm,” he murmured. 

“What?”

“Testing,” he said, his voice quiet. 

Gobber chose that moment to drop the broadsword, causing them both to jump. Astrid shifted instinctively to a defensive posture, one leg behind her, but Hiccup moved as well - to protect her. His hand rested over her stomach, but he wasn’t pushing her back. 

He was covering her until she grabbed a weapon. 

They’d trained together so much that it was instinctive for him to make sure she was safe if she wasn’t fully armed. 

She turned her head and peeked at him. 

He was blushing. That made her smile. 

“Sorry, you two. This sword is a menace.”

“Whose is it?” Hiccup slid his hand away from her stomach, following the curve of her waist with his palm before he resumed his examination of her armor. 

“Ah, it’s Dagnar’s. He keeps dropping it. Which is because it’s poorly made and unbalanced, but his grandfather gave it to him, so he won’t hear any talk of replacing it.”

“Maybe you could make it ceremonial. Let him hang it on the wall or something.”

“Right, like for emergencies only,” Astrid added. She had a few weapons like that, ones that were valuable as well as deadly, but that she only used when absolutely necessary. Her uncle’s axe was like that. It hung on the wall above her bed. 

“That’s not a bad idea,” Gobber said, sounding as if he were chewing the words as he spoke them, a sure sign he was thinking. “Aye, not bad at all. I could add a bit of dash to this part here, reseat the handle….”

As bizarre as Gobber could be, Astrid knew he and Hiccup had one habit in common: when they focused on something fully, they lost sight and awareness of everything else in the room. So when Gobber bent over his workbench with the sword in front of him, muttering and sketching with a piece of charcoal, Astrid knew he’d pretty much forgotten they were there.

Hiccup hadn’t forgotten, though. 

“Can you drop the front of your armor down a bit?”

She did as he asked, wondering what he was doing. The weight of the metal rested in her hands more than on her shoulders in that position, and she had to work to hold it upright.

Then she felt his hands slowly pulling her shirt up from beneath her skirt.  

He bared the narrow strip of skin at the small of her back, just above the waistband of her skirt, and with his thumbs, slowly traced the muscles from her spine outward. 

It was impossible to hold still, but if she moved, she’d drop her armor and alert Gobber. 

She couldn’t speak, either. She could only hold still and wait.

It was still warm, though the sun was low in the sky, hovering at the horizon as it teased them with the idea of setting before it rose again in a few hours. She’d left her damp clothing in the stables to dry before she’d run to the forge, so she wasn’t wearing her leggings, only her skirt and an old pair of leggings she’d cut off above the knees the previous summer. Her shirt was a bit too small, but she hadn’t wanted to run to her house to get a newer one, since her mother would have stopped her from going back out if she’d been home. 

So it was terribly easy for Hiccup’s fingers to find her skin, warm and sensitive, below the waistband of her skirt and across the small of her back. 

She was going to kill him. 

“Hiccup, come over here and hold this a minute,” Gobber said. She flinched. Had he noticed?

Her arms were crossed over her chest, holding up her armor and, she realized, effectively covering her from view. She looked around slowly. Gobber didn’t seem any more aware of them than he had a moment before. 

Hiccup crossed the room and lifted the sword, holding it by the point with both hands. A few minutes before, he’d held a sword and she’d been icy inside, irritated by the symbolism and the sight of Hiccup practicing a ritual that Hoark would perform at his wedding. Now she was the opposite of ice. She was molten inside, held together by her crossed arms and a handful of metal plates, and seeing Hiccup grasping the more dangerous side of a weapon made it worse. 

“Aye, thought so. Ok, back to work you go.” Gobber nodded at Hiccup, then looked down at his worktable and forgot about them again. 

Hiccup grinned at her as he came toward her, his smile familiar and wicked. When he stood behind her again, she held her breath, awaiting the fire of his touch and the torture of holding in her reaction to it. 

But he didn’t touch her. 

He stood close to her. She could feel the warmth from his body. He didn’t reach for her, draw his fingertip across her back or touch the back of her arms as he had before. She felt like her skin, her nerves, were reaching for him, but finding only absence and warmth, not his presence and the sizzling heat of his touch. 

Then he lifted her armor from her hands, removing it entirely and placing it on the table in front of him. 

Without the metal to hold up, she didn’t need to keep her arms crossed over her chest, but she wanted to. Her nipples were hard, her breasts aching, and her shirt was tight enough that she knew she couldn’t hide her reaction. 

She spun around, leaning against the table, her back to Gobber as she stood next to Hiccup, who was now aligning the plates of her armor and tracing each curve with a charcoal pencil. She saw him glance at her face, then at her chest, and she was torn between wanting to punch him for leaving her unable to hide how she felt, and wanting to take a deep breath, lift her chest and stare him down, knowing he’d turn red and likely stammer as he looked away. 

She did neither. She met his eyes when he looked at her face again, and raised one brow. He didn’t look down, and he didn’t speak, though she saw his cheeks were a bit more red than before. 

“I think the catch on my skirt is giving out, too.”

He had to lick his lips and swallow before he spoke. She grinned at that, widely, without remorse. 

“Same thing happened to Sigrid’s cloak,” Gobber said. “She was here earlier today. I think I used the last clasp we had, but you might find another. Or we can make one.”

Astrid needed to do several nice things for her aunt as soon as possible, to thank her for her deliberate and accidental interference. More than several. 

Astrid pulled the waist band of her skirt apart so the clasp was damaged, then unfastened it, allowing the metal studded fabric to hit the floor without trying to catch it. She stepped out of it, moving away from Hiccup, but made no movement toward picking it up, either. 

Hiccup shook his head at her, then bent to grab it. But as he stood, he moved closer and allowed his fingers to slide up the skin on the inside of her leg, over her knee, then up her thigh until the fabric of her short leggings stopped him and he moved away. 

She had to remind herself how breathing worked. The languid heat that had filled her blood when he’d touched her skin in lazy, hidden strokes became an inferno in her body, and she couldn’t stop a gasp from escaping her lips, though she tried to hold it in. 

Hiccup, his movements efficient, spread the skirt on the table in front of him, examining the clasp and the attachment to each spike in the fabric. 

“Some of these could use with reinforcement.” She wasn’t sure if he was speaking to her, or to himself, or to Gobber, but she couldn’t turn around at the moment. She was trying to control the reaction, the external signs of what she was fighting inside, and knew that if he looked at her, he’d be able to tell what she was thinking. Her face was hot; her hairline was damp, and not just because it was hot inside the forge. Hiccup still had his shirt on, but she could see the dampness across the back spreading, and knew he only kept it on because she was there. Gobber had no such modesty, and no reason to treat her differently, but she knew he’d glare at Hiccup if he removed his shirt in front of Astrid. 

The thought of him doing so made her start over again, tamping down the visible signs of her own arousal. It wasn’t easy. She didn’t envy Hiccup with such an obvious signal of his own. Someone who didn’t know her wouldn’t be able to tell, but she knew Hiccup could tell. And Gobber might figure out how much Hiccup’s presence and hidden actions had affected her. 

“All right then, Hiccup. I’m going to go show this to Dagnar, see what he thinks. I’ll be back in a bit. You stay here, mind the fire since it’s up, aye?”

“No problem, Gobber.” Astrid could hear the strain in Hiccup’s voice, how hard he fought to keep himself sounding as he always did, but Gobber didn’t notice. He grabbed the sword and slid the hook on his arm into the neck of his shirt, tossing it over his shoulder as he walked out the door. “I’ll be back,” he said again. 

Knowing that Hiccup was struggling with hiding his reaction to her made her arousal even worse, but they both stood entirely still, listening to Gobber walk across the courtyard, the sound of his metal leg fading as he moved away across the stone courtyard. 

Astrid was about to spin toward Hiccup and tackle him to the ground when he turned to her first, eyebrows down, his face firm and almost severe. 

“My workroom. Go there. Now.”

She gasped, her eyes widening, shock like ice dousing the spreading fire in her veins. Was he telling her to leave him alone?

“Go in there, and take your boots off.”

“Just my boots?”

“Yes. Now.”

The moment of decision spread outward, where between one breath and the next she had to choose to do as he said, or challenge him for asking. 

She knew she should challenge him. She should ask why. She should make him explain. 

But deep inside, she wanted to obey. To do as he asked because she knew he was planning something she’d like. 

If she asked, he’d tell her. He’d explain, immediately. But the burning excitement and temptation of doing as he said without asking why, without demanding to know his plans, fueled her movement as she pushed away from the table without a word, and walked into his workroom in the back of the forge. 

The doorway was low, and to her knowledge Gobber didn’t fit through the doorway. Stoick, Hiccup had told her, had only come in once, and his entrance and exit hadn’t been easy. Hiccup had to duck his head to enter his own workroom, and she did too, as she pushed the door mostly closed behind her.

Boots off. That wasn’t so difficult. 

She’d gotten what she’d wanted. Her armor was off, and her skirt was on the worktable in the next room. But with her boots off, wearing just short leggings and a too-tight shirt, she felt entirely unprotected. She couldn’t run, and if anyone discovered them, it would more than obvious that she was up to something and it wasn’t armor repair. 

Then Hiccup entered the room and shut the door, latching it behind him. 

It wasn’t completely dark. The sun was still high enough that the spaces between the boards on the outside wall lit the room in lines of gold, the dust in the air dancing in the thin beams of light. She could see him, see that he had something in his hand that he dropped on the floor by the door, but she couldn’t see what it was, or the expression on his face. Her eyes hadn’t adjusted to the dimness.

She stood with her back to his desk, her hands resting on the edge, unsure of where to go. But when Hiccup slid his hands over her neck, tilted her head, and kissed her, she didn’t want to go anywhere. His lips burned hers, and she grabbed his shirt, hanging on as the torrent of heat grew within her again, leaving her gasping between kisses. 

“We don’t have much time before Gobber gets back,” he said, the quiet intensity of his voice causing the flames inside her to build, scorching her from the inside out. 

She nodded, unsure of what to say, unsure what he meant. Then she felt his hands cover the waistband of her leggings, his thumbs dipping inside to follow the curve of her hipbones up and down, as far as he could reach. 

He leaned in, his lips near her ear. “Let me… let me make you scream. Quietly.”

“How does one scream quietly?” 

“Let’s find out,” he replied. She could see his face, so close to hers, his half smile wicked and intoxicating. 

She nodded slowly. “What do you want me to do?”

“Sit right there,” he said, lifting her hips enough that she slid back until she was sitting on the edge of his desk. “Don’t move.”

Then he kissed her again. 

His hands slid beneath her shirt, his fingertips teasing her nipples into harder peaks, then pinching them the way she liked, the way that made her gasp into his mouth. He kneaded her flesh gently, then pinched again, alternating soft and wickedly hard touches so unpredictably that her skin grew damp with sweat and her breathing was a jagged rhythm she couldn’t control. 

Then he lowered his head, and pulled her nipple into his mouth, sucking deeply. Her head fell back, her upper body resting on her hands, so she couldn’t touch him, couldn’t try to make him feel the same incendiary agony. His lips, his teeth, his mouth moved over her, first one breast, then the other, sucking, nibbling, then stroking her skin with his tongue, and it was all she could do to keep from crying out. Her breasts felt heavy, overly sensitive, and if he stopped she’d have to kill him. 

 She felt his hands slide down her sides, then one arm wrapped around her waist. He lifted her off the desk for a moment, tipping her weight back entirely onto her hands. She opened her mouth to ask him what he was doing when she felt him tug the waistband of her leggings over her hips and down her legs. 

When he set her down on his desk, she froze, unable to breathe for a moment.

When he knelt in front of her, pressing her knees gently apart, she understood. 

When his tongue touched the inside of her thigh, she closed her eyes, gripping the wood of the desk with both hands, praying she’d be able to keep quiet. 

His fingers slowly traced her, then pressed her apart so his tongue could take over. 

There was no way she’d be able to remain silent. She felt the tentative, then confident touch of his hands, his mouth, his fingertips, and his tongue, sliding down, then up, circling the sensitive peak then dipping down again. He experimented, trying different amounts of pressure, rubbing then pressing, then covering her with moisture and doing it all again.

It was the most wonderful torment. Her entire being focused on that one spot, on the hot pressure of his tongue as he teased her, threw her breathing and her body into random patterns of exquisite sensation, guiding her towards orgasm. 

Unable to stop herself, she moved her hips against his touch, and he paused, as if he were listening to the movements of her body, before he slid his fingers into her, answering each tilt of her hips with a thrust of his own. 

She saw stars on the back of her eyelids, and her heart was racing, her blood flying through her body, hot like dragon fire in her veins. His touch had made her arousal more sharp, more consuming, but she’d been on edge since they’d left the cave behind the falls. Now, she was hurtling towards combustion, biting her lips to keep from making any sound. 

Her back arched, sweaty and taut with tension, the core of her body scorched with pleasure that built and built. Without thinking, she reached down, pressed to adjust his angle, and gasped deeply when the pressure changed and built even faster. Oh, gods, she was going to explode and scream when she did it. 

Her eyes opened, and she could see the beams of the ceiling, the way the light of the forge blaze danced through the cracks in the wall, sliding across the wood above her in sinuous waves. Those same waves of fire were inside her, growing until she swore she’d burst into flames, too. 

She shouldn’t. She shouldn’t look. 

Why not?

So she did. 

His brows were down, focused, intent and determined, the way he looked when his incredible mind was flying at impossible speeds to figure something out, and what he was figuring out was her. 

He wanted to learn her body the way he learned everything else. 

And once that thought coalesced in her mind, she shattered, flying apart in every direction, trying desperately to keep silent as her mind and body screamed in release. 

When awareness returned, when she felt the wood and paper beneath her, heard the crackle of the fire and opened her eyes to see the dancing lights on the ceiling, she realized she had her hand fisted in Hiccup’s hair. 

“Oh, Gods, I’m sorry!” She let go and tried to smooth his hair down, which never worked. 

He laughed, and the warmth of his breath made her shiver. She was so sensitive, like lightning had been trapped under her skin. 

When he stood, she hopped off the table and pulled his mouth to hers, kissing him deeply. She could taste him, and her, and she wanted to kiss him for hours. She wanted to make him not-scream the way she had, and she could feel his erection against her stomach, hot and hard. She could make him scream silently, too. 

He pulled away, then brushed a kiss over her lips before stepping back. His breathing was uneven, and she wanted to pull him towards her, but he reached past her to pick up whatever he’d placed on the floor. 

“Your skirt. You were changing into it to test the new clasp.”

“I was?”

“You were.” His smile was a mix of delight and wickedness. Then he opened the door and went back into the workroom, closing the door behind him with a click, the latch falling into place automatically. 

She was reaching for her skirt when an enormous crash made her jump. 

“Hiccup! What is this?!” Gobber’s voice filled the forge, and echoed even in Hiccup’s workroom.

“Sorry, sorry.” She heard Hiccup hurry over to the door of the forge, untangling Gobber from whatever had collapsed on him. Had Hiccup left something in the doorway so he’d hear if Gobber returned? Probably. Astrid smiled, though she felt her face heat up. 

He’d prepared, thought ahead to keep their location secure as long as possible, giving her, and him, as much time and space as he could. 

“Why is the chain mail in the doorway?”

Hiccup, always thinking of distraction and surprise, changed the subject. “I was moving it, sorry, and - what did Dagnar say?” 

“Oh, Dagnar, he was pleased with the idea. I mentioned that it could be ceremonial, like you said, and he puffed up, started marking out a place on the wall above the fire. I won’t tell him that the smoke will turn it black, though,” Gobber said on a laugh. “He’ll bring it back and we can make it more ceremonial for him.”

Astrid pulled on the skirt, and checked that her clothing was in place, her shirt pulled taut and straight, her short leggings not too rumpled, though they were covered by the skirt. 

The clasp had been mended. When Hiccup had found the time to mend it before following her into his work room, she had no idea, but he’d bent the metal back into place, and it held, strong as ever. 

When she opened the door, Hiccup was on the far side of the forge, adding wood to the main fire while Gobber maneuvered the sword into its white hot center. “Clasp mended, then, lass?”

“It is, thanks. Or, thanks to Hiccup.”

“Oh, he should get all the credit, I’m sure,” Gobber said with a grin. Her eyes narrowed. It looked to Astrid like he’d winked at Hiccup, but she couldn’t be sure. 

“I’m off for home. Good night.”

“Good night, Astrid. Come back tomorrow and we’ll have your armor mended, right, Hiccup?”

“Oh, yeah, sure. See you tomorrow.”

As she wandered out into the eerie half-light of summer evening, not dark but not light either, Astrid felt languid, completely at ease, and thankful.

Until she overheard Gobber talking to Hiccup, his voice carrying on the breeze over the water, turning her stomach to ice, like the cold wind that would soon cover Berk and drive the sun away. 

“…be making your wedding sword soon enough, you know.”

 


	23. Changing the Rules

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bon soir, mes amis. My deepest apologies for my long absence. We have traveled and moved and stopped and moved again, and finally, I have time and a new chapter to share. Merci for your patience, your kudos, and your comments!

The next morning, the air was thick and still. To Astrid, it felt electric. It almost reminded her of winter, when the fire in the hearth would dry the air so much that her hair crackled when she brushed it. It was still too humid and hot for roaring fires, but with the absence of any breeze, the tension in the air around her felt like sparks. She kept looking to the horizon for dark clouds or any sign of lightning, but the sun, sluggish as Meatlug and stubborn as Hookfang, made its desultory way across the sky, and any clouds that appeared were soft and benign.

But the tension she felt, it was real. Stormfly was agitated during their morning patrol, her quills shaking at any provocation. Once their ride ended, her dragon went into her bed and fussed with her nest, pulling the straw into a tighter coil and moving the clothing of Astrid’s that she’d “borrowed” deeper into the stables.

Fishlegs’ mom had said it was going to rain, and if Stormfly’s behavior and the subtle pressure she felt in the air were any indication, she was right. But no clouds gathered over the waves, threatening Berk with a wet arrival. Most of their storms came from the sea, but the horizon was as clear as it had been for weeks.

After her chores and a brief conversation with Sigrid over lunch, discussing what she wouldn’t be cooking in the lesson she wouldn’t be having, Astrid stuffed some supplies in her satchel, grabbed her axe, two staves, and her sword, and made her way to the meadow.

As she walked the path that lined the visible edge of Berk, she glanced over her shoulder at the horizon, where the light remained clear and unblemished by any grey. She looked over at the academy across the harbor, searching for any sign of Toothless. She was pretty sure Hiccup had a long flight that morning, bringing supplies to one of their fishing vessels and warning them of the potential for a storm. Despite Snotlout’s mockery, most everyone believed Fishleg’s mother when she said the sky was going to do something. If she’d said it was going to snow that afternoon, Astrid and everyone else would have worn a cloak and hood without a second thought.

Rain might have been in the prediction, but it was still ghastly hot at midday. The darkness of the forest moved over Astrid’s skin and cooled the air around her as she made her way deeper into the woods. She knew she’d beat Hiccup; he wouldn’t show for at least an hour.

She smiled. She had plenty of time to think, and to prepare.

But less than half an hour later, the sound of Hiccup’s distinctive walk reached her ears across the clearing. Had he hurried? How had he flown back so quicky? Her heart sped up as she listened to him approach. She was ready for sparring, and everything she needed was in place, but the coldness in her palms and the sparks in her stomach grew, her eyes searching the edge of the meadow until he appeared. 

Astrid didn’t bother to chastise herself. She waited until he was close enough to hear her before she moved to meet him in the sun.

“I have something for you.”

His reply was instant. “Please don’t tell me it’s yak nog.”

Her eyes narrowed, though she had to purse her lips to keep from smiling. “You’re hilarious. No, it’s not.”

“Is it food?”

“No, but thank you for the idea.” Laughter lightened her voice as he grinned at her.

“What are you supposedly learning today?”

“Something about baking. Not bread, though. Hey - you still owe me a lesson.”

“You can come by the forge again. I can show you tonight.” He looked down at the grass then back at her, his cheeks turning pink. “If you want. I have to help Gobber later anyway.”

Astrid felt heat spread across her body as more sparks collected in her stomach, a pulsing, spinning sense of anticipation. “I may do that. Still working on the ceremonial sword?”

“Yep.” Hiccup let the weapons in his hand fall softly to the grass, then reached down to tighten the straps on his prosthetic leg. “He’s got all kinds of ideas.”

“I’m sure. So, you ready?”

He stood up, relaxed and aware, and faced her. “What are we doing today? Why are you holding your axe?”

Astrid looked down. “Oh, no reason. Just habit.” She leaned it against a rock, then turned back, fingertips still touching the handle. “Did you want to practice with axes?”

“Nah. Axe throwing is not my thing.”

“It’s a good close combat weapon, but you’re already better with staves. Or a sword. Have you tried swords?”

He nodded.

“What’s your best weapon?”

“You mean aside from Toothless?”

Astrid shot him a dubious look. She’d left sparring practice sore and tired enough to know he wasn’t defenseless, no matter what he said.

“Arrows, probably.”

“You do have good aim. You prefer that or staves to swords?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said, distracted. He’d picked up the weapons and the long metal pipe he’d brought and was moving them towards the arsenal she’d carried with her.

“Is that a spear?”

“Yes. Made it earlier this month. Was debating how best to use it.”

“Can I see?” Astrid didn’t hide her eagerness at a chance to examine a weapon Hiccup built, and took the pale grey spear from him when he offered it to her. It was slightly shorter than she was, and tapered slightly at both ends, but not sharp enough for stabbing. She bounced it in her palm. “It’s so light - wait, is this hollow?”

“Yeah.” He stood close, moved his hand over hers to show her how to hold it so her fingers could work the internal mechanism. “It’s designed to hold Zippleback gas, or maybe Monstrous Nightmare gel, so if you press here, it activates.”

Two cylindrical buttons beneath her fingers slid into place, and she heard and felt something metal shift in the center. “Is that a central weight?”

He nodded as Astrid stepped back, testing the balance of the metal staff and trying to shake whatever it was inside loose.

Hiccup narrowed his eyes, glancing at her face then closely watching the metal spinning in her hands. “It shouldn’t move or lose the center position. But if you press those buttons again, the cartridge inside will be pierced and let the gas out.”

“And a spark?”

“Haven’t gotten that far. Wanted to ask you.”

Astrid focused on the spear in her hand, envisioning different scenarios where it would be useful to have a spear that lit on fire. “The thing is, it’s so lightweight, you can’t really hit anything with it. It’ll crumple, or bend and shear off the end if it hits a hard surface.”

“It’s reinforced, so it’s stronger than it looks,” he said, taking the staff from her hand. “Want to try it out?”

Astrid’s blood sizzled with a slightly different kind of anticipation. “Yes.”

They took turns, each trying to bend or break the metal, using it for offensive and defensive maneuvers until both of them were sweaty and breathing heavily. He was right; the metal was strong, and didn't crease or break. They pushed each other, Hiccup to test the flaws and strengths of the weapon he designed, and Astrid for the challenge and burn of her muscles, the release of tension she craved daily. Usually sparring unwound the taut rigidity built of a thousand daily stresses, chipping them away to nothing through brutal, fluid, unending movement.

But despite the exertion, a different tension remained, one that was somehow molten, deep in her belly, causing her to lose her focus. He watched her so closely when they fought, predicting her movements, analyzing her patterns to find opportunities to strike, to score a point. So far, they were nearly tied, the weapon working equally well for them both.

“One design flaw,” Hiccup said, pulling his shirt up to wipe the metal. “It gets slippery if your hands are damp.” Astrid watched as his eyes narrowed and his lips moved as if he were muttering to himself, and knew he was mentally designing solutions at a speed faster than she could imagine. He was still holding the hem of his shirt up, though, and so she let him ponder and think without sneaking in to attack him.

It was tempting. She could knock him sideways easily when he was so deeply distracted. But it was more enticing to look at him, to examine the freckles that formed a random pattern over the muscles of his abdomen, like an invitation to follow and explore. She looked up when she sensed Hiccup staring at her, and felt her face turn deep red.

“I think I need you to make me one of those,” she said, brushing her hands off and using the tip of her boot to launch her staff into the air. She caught it with one hand, not looking away from Hiccup.

He was watched her, observing her movements, following her as she backed slowly around him. He pivoted on his metal leg, assumed a defensive posture, and waited for her to strike.

It was the narrowing of his eyes, the lowering of his eyebrows that caused her attention to slip away from the match in front of her.

She had to guard herself against the same attention she craved. His intense focus, the way his eyes caught every movement she made, it was distracting. It pulled her away from combat like the sun sparks on the water that looked like sails and fooled her into going off course on patrol.

He must have sensed her softening attention, because he pivoted in one lithe movement, the concentration evident in his face, a frown that wasn’t anger but more…determination.

Again, she thought to herself, Tuff wasn’t wrong. He was good.

And being the center of that determination was intoxicating, like too much mead and not enough water.

The metal hit her wooden staff with a low ring, and they battled sideways across the clearing, each taking an advantage, then shifting to defense, neither scoring a point. She blocked a hit to her side, spun and dropped to try to strike his leg, but he evaded her easily, jumping over her staff and leaning to try to catch her arm while she recovered her balance. He was used to a wider range of balance than she was, she realized. He could recover from a tilt that would have made her tumble into the grass. She couldn’t count on him falling. He was too hard to push over.

Their battle continued, both of them sweating, pushing their hair out of their faces with quick gestures and refusing to back down. Hiccup’s stubbornness matched her own, and while the tempo of their fight may have slowed slightly, the sound of impact creating a more subtle rhythm than the urgent rapid fire of a few moments before, determination remained, neither side giving quarter.

Astrid was no longer surprised he was good. Sparring with him had moved from being a curious anticipation to a hunger, a desire to release her own strength against a partner who could return it equally. They had very different styles, but were both attentive and analytical in subtly distinct ways.

She pushed her hair out of her eyes again, tucking the ends of her bangs under the leather of her kransen to hold them back. Hiccup didn’t follow the movements of her hands until they were both on the spear of wood she held.

Then his eyes focused, his gaze and the weight of it a distraction, a challenge she had to meet within herself. Anger for her own susceptibility didn’t come, though. His attention encouraged her desire, both to win, and to continue the battle.

She moved steadily around his side, building her attack, considering first a strike to his arm, then to his back, or lower.

But each time she struck, he deflected her momentum, pushing her to the side and forcing her to start over. His movements were slow and fluid, like hot water swirling in the springs, while her attacks were sharp, jagged in rhythm like lighting.

A stray thought, one unrelated to battle, slid through her mind. It was as frustrating to fight him as it was to find time to not fight with him.

And of course her mind went toward the not-fighting, the possibilities of that same energy, that same focus.

He was sweaty, his skin gleaming. The roots of his hair were damp, dark brown against the flickers of fiery red brought out by the sun. A drop of moisture ran down his neck, then below the collar of his shirt, and her attention half followed it while tracking the movements of his hands, defending against any potential attack.

She pressed forward, her staff spinning in his hands, her mind one fraction ahead, calculating an opening, a weakness, a place she could strike.

Astrid raised her staff and brought it down, but he easily blocked her, both arms pressing the center of his staff above his hand against hers, sliding the metal toward her hands so she’d have to step back or let go, neither an acceptable option.

So she stepped toward him, into the space beneath his arms, so he’d have to either jump back or fall against her. She’d win a point either way.

But he did neither of those things. A tactical error, she realized, just as he let go of one end of the metal he held. With a quick, easy movement, casual and unthreatening, he slid his weapon around hers in the time it took to breathe. She was trapped, caught between his body and the metal spear in his hands, now across her back, a gentle bar, pressing coolness against her skin.

“Point is mine,” he said softly, a smile on his lips as he looked at her mouth, then her eyes.

She glared at him, unable to resist the anger when he teased her, even though her pulse was racing at the closeness, the heat she felt from his body, his arms surrounding her.

Astrid allowed her weapon to slide through her fingers so one end dropped to the earth beside her. She leaned casually on it, waiting for him to move away.

He didn’t. Hiccup released his hold on the metal behind her and let her go, but didn’t step away from her. He pushed his hair back from his face, then puled the hem of his shirt up to wipe his forehead, but he didn't move.

Why didn’t he take his shirt off? She knew he’d sparred with Tuffnut, both of them shirtless. Why would he keep his shirt on now, when it was even warmer than it had been then? 

The glimpse of his stomach, the reddish hair and freckles following the contours of his abdomen before they disappeared around his sides and beneath the waistband of his trousers, ran through her like fire.

Her eyes narrowed as an idea formed in her mind, desire and temptation turning to strategy.

“You know, I think we need to improve the stakes. Change the rules.”

He raised a brow, his mouth twisting into a half smile. “The rules? Don’t like losing?”

She glared again. “I’m not losing. We’re nearly even.”

“Uh huh,” he replied, sarcasm evident in his voice.

She took a step back, not hiding her perusal of his body, the curve of his hips, the patch of stomach bared by his shirt, which he was now using to wipe his neck.

Astrid tossed her staff from palm to palm, walking slowly around him. He kept his eyes on her but didn’t turn his body to follow her.

“For every point, winner gets a prize.”

“A prize?”

She nodded, a grin slowly breaking across her face. This was truly her best idea ever.

“Yes. Winner chooses.”

“Oh, Gods.”

She didn’t reply. She knew she looked smug, and she normally never allowed herself to brag. But since she intended to win the next point, it was permissible.

“Starting now?” Hiccup had dropped the hem of his shirt, and was shaking his arms out, probably releasing the tension that built so easily between them. She did the same.

In moments, he was ready to begin again.

She smiled at him, her breath skipping at the answering grin on his face.

Then she sobered.

“Starting now.”

And with no warning, she struck toward him, aiming for his legs. He blocked her very easily, which she’d counted on, knowing the defense of his legs was the first thing he’d worked on. His movements were instinctive, muscle memory and practice making his defense and counter attack seem like he worked with premonition, predicting her movements before she made them.

He knew her very well.

But not well enough. She slowed, pulling back on the desire to win that flew through her body, allowing herself to change her pattern and slow down just enough that he couldn’t follow. When she saw the movement of his brows signal his frown, she spun, striking out and tapping his thigh with the side of her staff.

“Point!”

He shook his head, though he was smiling at her.

“So what’s your prize, then?”

She tilted her head and pretended to think as she walked toward him. He watched her as she approached, his face neutral, mouth gentle, not wary but not giving away what he was thinking, either.

Then his gaze dropped for a moment to her mouth and stayed for a breath, then another, before he met her eyes again.

She stopped with a fraction of space between them, and placed her fingertips on his chest. He frowned.

“I want your shirt.”

“What?”

“Your shirt. I want it.”

“For what?”

“Not your concern.” She laughed, her happy exhilaration echoing off the rock cliffs behind them.

His eyes widened. “Wait - with every point, winner gets a prize, and it can be _clothing_?”

She arched a brow and nodded.

Hiccup removed his shirt.

She took it from him, turned and tossed it toward her weapons, the first of what she wanted to be many more prizes on her side.

When she faced him to start again, she realized she’d made a very large mistake.

It’s difficult not to stare at him with his shirt off.

She knew he had muscles. She’d seen them. She’d felt them as they flew together, fought them in practice, and in rare, precious moments, explored them with her hands.

But with the visible signs of exertion in the heat, his body was entirely different. Shining skin met shadows and curves and there was a scattering of hair and freckles everywhere and she’d made a terrible mistake.

Hiccup didn’t seem to notice her distraction, the way her breathing was uneven and hard to control. He looked more comfortable - and he probably was, with his shirt off.

Another error on her part.

Well, she could at least enjoy the fruit of her own mistake. She stepped into a defensive posture, waiting for his attack.

He gestured to the wooden staff she held. “Want to trade weapons again?”

“No, thanks. I’m good.”

He nodded in response, then attacked.

It was like the boundary of his body had shifted, or maybe her awareness had, but all she saw in that next span of time was what she didn’t see nearly enough of normally. The way his muscles flexed and shifted, the strength that hid behind his lean stature, beneath the slightly loose folds of fabric. His flight suit gave away nothing, and his clothing was otherwise unremarkable.

But now, she could see every movement, every curl of strength. His biceps flexed and she couldn’t watch the telltale movements of his hands because she couldn’t stop staring. When had he -

 _Focus_ , Astrid told herself, clenching her jaw and narrowing her eyes.

Maybe she could start a plot to strike each freckle. They’d be here for months, he had so many. Were they everywhere? Did they continue beneath -

She jumped, off balance, as he swept his weapon toward her, aiming for her leg. Tumbling across the grass to gather and control her momentum, she hissed at herself in frustration. It didn’t matter where his freckles were.

Well, it did. But it didn’t matter _right then_.

Well accustomed to her ability to change direction, Hiccup had advanced as she recovered her position. When she turned to face him in a crouch, to move low and jump to strike, she found him in a similar posture, his focus intense, again directed entirely at her. She felt as if she were outlined with fire, burning from the outside in.

What in Thor’s name had she been thinking?

His breathing was rapid, even, and transfixing, the shift of movement and shadow drawing her eyes, even as she fought the temptation to look.

His body was an uncharted island she wanted to explore, and she had to hit him to continue her journey.

What a significant tactical error she’d made. How was she going to hit him? Where? Could she just tackle him instead?

She didn’t get to answer that question because Hiccup took advantage of her uneven defense, the interruption of her thoughts and lack of focus, and tapped her on the side with his staff.

“Point.”

She stepped back, pulling her arm across her forehead, wiping sweat away. Her heart was racing, both from frustration and terrible anticipation at what he’d say, what he would ask for.

Under her rules, losing a point took on an entirely new meaning. He was so unwilling to take his shirt off in front of her — not here, nor in the forge where it was even hotter. So what would he ask for as a prize? What garment of hers would he name, if he was hesitant to be shirtless in front of her?

It was warm, of course, so she wore less than usual, but there were still many possibilities, all of which made her shiver.

She struggled to breathe evenly, but her voice was smooth when she spoke. “What’s your prize?”

He grinned, a wicked, happy smile that she’d never seen before and wanted to savor.

He opened his mouth.

His answer was drowned out by thunder.

 


	24. The Sky Breaks

Thunder cracked the sky above them. The sound ricocheted across the mountains like the gods had jumped down to run across the earth. 

“We have to get back.” Hiccup started running toward their things, which were strewn in a wide arc in the shade.

Only there was no shade. Clouds had covered the sun and turned the sky a muddy, frightening green. He hadn’t noticed.

A knot formed in his stomach. He hadn’t noticed at all.

Astrid kept pace alongside him, picking up weapons and shoving things into her satchel, but when the rain began, it came down in sheets, a torrent that flooded the meadow with massive puddles within minutes.

“There’s no time to get back to Berk. We have to find shelter here,” Astrid said, yelling over the sound of water hitting every surface.

Hiccup looked at the path across the meadow, barely visible in the downpour, and knew she was right. In the distance, a rumble of thunder like a rockslide from the sky moved toward them, and he took a step back into the trees, looking for a safe place to cover them both.

Astrid took off at full speed and grabbed his arm on her way past, spinning him toward the cliffs. “This way. I know there’s a cave back here - or there was a few years ago.”

The dark sky continued to break apart. Fat, almost painful raindrops pelted them from between the tree branches. It washed away the sweat and grime, but left them both shivering as the wind blew past. Lighting flashed above, and they looked at one another as they heard and felt it strike nearby. Another roar of thunder followed in instant later, and they sped up, though Hiccup could feel the water seeping into the space between the cuff of his prosthetic and the skin above it. Soon he wouldn’t be able to run, much less walk.

They reached the edge of the forest nearest the cliffs. Astrid threw her weapons down and scrambled up a slope covered in rocks and debris from a recent slide, digging a path with both hands that immediately disappeared and sent more stones tumbling down behind her. “Stay there until I find the entrance,” she called, her voice rough and uneven.

The rain slowed her progress more than the loose stones, but she reached a rocky ledge and pulled herself up onto it. Hiccup couldn’t see her for several minutes, and he began to worry that she’d fallen or become trapped. Just as he started to lean his weapons against a tree to climb after her, she reappeared.

“Found it! The entrance is a bit of a climb, though.”

“Better than nothing,” he replied, knowing she couldn’t hear him. He wasn’t sure how he was going to climb up the slope. Carrying the metal spear would be a bad idea with the lightning, but he needed leverage to push himself up. He reached down to tighten the cuff on his leg to the point where it began to hurt, then spun the mechanism below to switch from the rounded metal foot he’d been using to a spear tip he normally only used in the winter.

Using the spear to anchor himself, he began to climb to the ledge. He left his weapons behind, and carried his bag across his body. The water ran over his skin, soaking him as if he was standing beneath the waterfalls. The rain was relentless, the force of the water driving him backward, turning each step he took into two, then three more.

Suddenly Astrid was there, at his side, grabbing his arm, pulling him up the slope. Hiccup swallowed the burn of frustration and humiliation, pushing himself toward the ledge.

“Almost…there,” she said, her breathing serrated with the sound of fear.

Then, at last, his hand found the jagged outcropping she’d climbed onto, and within another breath and another flash of lightning, they both cleared the edge, rolling down a slight incline toward the rock wall.

“Where’s the cave entrance?”

Astrid’s reply was drowned by another roar of thunder, but he followed when she began to crawl, then run in a crouch, toward a boulder leaning against the rock face at an angle. When she reached it, she slid to her knees, then crawled into a small dark space behind the stone, barely visible from the front.

Just how big was this cave?

Hiccup dropped to his knees, pulling his bag higher on his shoulder, and looked at the tiny space. The rain washed over him, wiping away dirt and pebbles, and he felt the sting of many cuts and scrapes from the climb. He was about to call Astrid’s name when her hand appeared, reaching for him.

“Get in here!”

“Astrid, wait. Is-“

“Inside. NOW.” She grabbed his arm, but he couldn’t let her pull him inside. He shook her off, pushed his bag into the darkness and then, using his arms, levered himself into the space behind the boulder.

It was a low opening, but once he moved past the entrance, the cave opened up into a large chamber. He could barely see anything beyond the entrance, but when lighting split the sky behind them with a roar, the flash of light illuminated the space. He saw rock spears reaching toward the ground from a tall domed ceiling, but the light disappeared before he could see anything else.

Astrid took his hand. “This way.”

“You’ve been here before?”

“Years ago, yeah. There’s a ledge here. It slopes down into the cave. Let's go.”

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Ever been in here when it rains?”

“No. Good point.”

The wall behind them was smooth, and Hiccup used his hands to keep his balance, pivoting on his metal leg to slide his foot forward along the ledge to see how far it extended in front of him.

“I think we can sit here. We should be far enough from the cave entrance.”

“Right. And we’d hear if it fills up with water,” Astrid replied, her voice moving away as she slid down the wall to sit.

Hiccup stared into the darkness, waiting for his eyes to adjust, feeling drops of water from his hair roll down his back as he lowered himself to the ground. He’d be filthy when they emerged.

Then the sound of water cascading onto the rock beside him made him jump.

“What is that? Is the cave filling?”

“What? No, no, we’re fine. Sorry.”

“That was you?”

“Yeah. Wringing out my braid.”

He started to laugh. “Judging by that sound, you could store water for days in your hair.”

“Might be useful.” He could imagine her mouth, curled at the edges into a smile that matched the warmth of her voice. Then he heard her shuffle her feet forward, and her voice came from above his head. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m pretty sure I hid supplies in here awhile back, when we were setting up hiding places during the raids. If they’re dry, then this cave doesn’t flood.”

The sound of her movements descended away to his left, and he shook his head to get some of the water out of his hair now that he knew he wouldn’t splatter her with cold. Closing his eyes to give them time to adjust to the near total darkness, he listened to the storm outside, the thunder rolling over the lighting, the rain water pouring down the side of the cliff beyond. 

Inside the cave, it was quiet, the torment of the storm muffled to almost an echo in the stillness inside. He didn’t hear the sound of any water inside the cave. The only sound he could make out was the careful scuffing of Astrid’s steps as she moved down the slope away from him.

He felt the skin of his leg begin to burn, a sign that he needed to take his prosthetic off and let everything dry, but he couldn’t move from where he sat if he did that. He couldn’t hop on one leg or navigate the darkness safely, and he wasn’t sure if where he currently waited was the safest option, either. He was on some sort of ledge, almost like a platform, higher than the floor, and he could hear moving Astrid below and in front of him.

“Hmmm.” She sounded as if she were plotting some tactical strategy. She probably was. Maybe she could come up with one to battle the growing embarrassment he told himself he shouldn’t feel but did anyway.

He was going to have to make himself less mobile and more of a hindrance to keep himself from injury, and he hated it.

“Ah ha! Found it.”

“Found what?”

“Supplies! I knew I’d hidden them in here.”

“What do you have?”

“Blankets, flint, kindling, some water, dried meat.”

“With that much, we could stay here for days.” Hiccup spoke without thinking, and cursed himself as a lengthening silence hung from the edge of his words.

A muffled crash and the curse that followed stopped him from trying to speak, and probably from making things worse.

“What happened? Are you all right?”

“I tripped. Let me start the fire, then I’ll go clean off outside.”

“Keep talking, and I’ll come to you and start the fire.”

“Nope, got it.” A spark, then another, then a tiny glow appeared in the bottomless darkness ahead of him. Then he saw Astrid’s hair, gold and white in the flickering light that swelled around her. “Can you see me?”

He nodded, then realized she couldn’t see him. “Yeah. Hang on.”

He stood slowly, pressing his weight against his arms and his good leg, trying not to use his prosthesis for anything but balance. He made his way down the slope, the path becoming clearer as she fed more chips of wood to the tiny fire and slowly filled the cave with light.

“Do we need more fuel?”

“No, I left a pile of it behind that rock. I found it by falling on it.” Her tone was dry, self-deprecating. Hiccup froze, disoriented by hearing his own habits echoed in her voice.

The dirt on the floor of the cave was surprisingly soft, and his steps, even with the metal spike of his leg sliding across the ground, were nearly silent. When he reached the fire, Astrid had finished pushing the dirt into a small circle to keep it contained, and was adding twigs and larger pieces of kindling to help it grow. As the light increased, he could see that her shoulder armor, an older, dented set of guards, rested on the ground, and her side was covered with dark smears that ran from her shoulder to her knee.

"Are you okay?"

She glanced up at him. There was more dirt smeared across her chin, but she smiled. "Yeah, I'm fine."

“I’ve got that - go ahead and rinse off if…um, if you want.”

She grinned at him again, then jumped up and rushed for the entrance. Astrid never moved slowly when she could fly.

Hiccup found the supplies she’d hidden, part of the numerous caches they’d gathered when raids had been an ongoing problem. Stoick had devised multiple escape routes to allow people to move to safe hiding places while Berk’s defenses were replenished between attacks. There were several large pieces of old wool, tacked together into makeshift blankets, each wrapped around a skin of water and a small bundle of dried meat. He spread two blankets, one on top of the other, then sat on one side, moving the food and water away from the fire. Then he began to detach his leg.

Trying not to chastise himself as he unwound the straps, he loosened the cuff gradually, and gently removed each piece so his skin wouldn’t tear.

“You okay?” He jumped at the sound of Astrid’s voice behind him but didn’t look.

“Yeah, just-“

“Oh, right, the rain. You need help?”

He shook his head, unable to speak. 

“Be right back.”

Hiccup finished rolling up his leggings so his skin would dry, wishing he knew where his shirt had gone so he could use it. Well, no, he probably couldn’t. It’d be soaking wet by now.

He placed his metal leg next to him, not too close to the fire or in a place where Astrid might trip on it. When detached, it had a number of sharp edges, and he’d stepped on it several mornings in a row before he found a place to keep it where it wouldn’t fall out of reach or roll beneath his bed to make him stumble.

Then, nothing else to do, he leaned back on his arms, watching the fire grow. It was devouring the slender pieces of branch Astrid had added, and he was about to reach for more when she returned.

“Hiccup?”

“Right here. Can you see?”

“Not well. Ah - there you are.” Her voice was muffled for a moment, and he was sitting up to look for her when he heard a torrent of water hitting the dirt on the opposite side of the cave.

“What was that?”

“My shirt. Wringing it out.”

Hiccup had no answer to that.

“Do you see my bag?”

He looked around. Bag. Her bag. It should be here. He heard more water splashing onto the ground.

Oh, Gods. What had she removed now?

What was he looking for again?

“Oh, here it is.” She moved into the gold boundary of the firelight across from him, and he was afraid to look up and unable to keep himself from doing so.

Her hair was unraveled, half out of its braid, and she’d removed her skirt as well as her shirt. All she wore were short leggings and a long sleeveless top, and he wondered if there was any way to keep her from moving closer, because he was pretty sure his lungs were going to explode if he didn’t remember how to breathe soon. If she came toward him, he’d forget again and probably pass out.

“Got another blanket?”

He handed it to her as she moved around the fire. Graceful and decisive as ever, she sat next to him, curling her legs toward the fire. Then she spread the blanket over her shoulder and, using one hand, wound it over his shoulders as well, covering them both.

Astrid was frowning, and he understood her expression instantly, following her gaze as she examined their temporary position. She was looking at the situation with familiar tactical clarity, and he could see her expression change as she checked off items in her mind. There was fire, fuel, some water, some food, and the rain shouldn’t flood the cave.

“The storm won’t last forever,” she said softly. “So we wait.”

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

She sat up to count the fuel pile, and when she was finished, she moved closer to him. Her legs became entangled in his, the stump of his left leg resting on her knee. He didn’t want to move away, but he wasn’t sure she was comfortable, either.

"Gods, Hiccup, your leg."

"Sorry, hang on," he said, pushing himself with his hands to move away from her. She stopped him with a firm grip on his knee, and pulled his leg closer. 

"Don't move. What happened? It's so red."

So was his face, and he was glad she couldn't see that clearly. "Oh, yeah, it's, um, I'm fine. I had to tighten the cuff to climb the slope. I'm okay."

She drew a breath, a concerned hiss that pinched her expression. Without hesitation or uncertainty, she moved her hand to touch the red ridges where the cuff had been tightened against his skin. Her fingers were gentle and cold, and felt wonderful against the angry flush that covered the lower remaining half of his leg. Carefully, she examined him, the touch of her hands cool and comforting, and unbearably arousing. He didn't know what to do with anyone other than himself, or maybe Gobber, looking at the space where his leg ended abruptly, and Astrid was fearlessly touching him with tender concern, her expression fierce and serious. "Hiccup, this looks painful."

"It looks worse than it is. I'll be fine in a little bit." He swallowed painfully, trying to keep his voice sounding as close to normal as possible. "I just have to...not wear it for a while." 

Then she looked at him with that familiar tactical expression, as if she were plotting an intricate strategy and he was involved.

The effect of her attention was immediate and extended beyond feeling his cheeks begin to burn. He shifted, moved his arm across his lap, and for neither the first nor the last time, he cursed the obvious signals of how he felt that were difficult to hide.

To distract himself, he thought ahead. How would they get back to Berk separately, with no indication that they’d been together this long.

Alone.

In the dark.

He had to start thinking of something else.

Now. 


	25. Charting the New and the Familiar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW!

Astrid leaned her head on his shoulder, waiting for the fire to warm her, to take the slick chill from her skin. In the quiet, she could feel the stiffness in Hiccup’s body begin to unwind, while outside the cave the storm continued, the roar of water competing with the explosions of thunder.

“She did say it was going to rain,” Hiccup said, his voice soft. 

Astrid laughed, then shifted uncomfortably.

“What’s wrong?”

“Wet clothes.”

He didn’t say anything, but she felt the tension return to his body, and cursed herself for speaking.

Astrid slid the blanket from her shoulders, covered Hiccup with it to keep the warmth they’d slowly built, and pushed her leggings off, leaving her shift, which wasn’t very long, but was mostly dry. She wrung the water from her leggings, then spread them on the blanket next to her.

When she turned back to Hiccup, his right leg was bent and he was pushing his hand through his hair, a sign that he was worried about something.

“What’s wrong?”

It took him a moment to look at her, like he was afraid to do so, but ultimately he did - though she could see the pale signs of apprehension at the edges of his smile. “Nothing’s wrong.”

She didn’t quite believe him, but he opened his arm, holding the blanket up behind her, and she tucked her body into the warm darkness beside him. She shivered as his arm closed around her, and he gathered her closer, her knees coming to rest against the soft fabric covering his thigh.

The fire gave a sudden crack as it split one of the branches, and Hiccup leaned away from her to add more fuel, first a branch, then a larger piece that would take longer to burn.

He looked at her over his shoulder. “How much wood is there?”

“Enough for a few hours of a fire that size, less if we build it high enough to cook.” Astrid felt the water in her braid begin to soak her shift, and she pulled it away from her skin, leaving it outside the blanket. When Hiccup leaned back against the large spike of rock behind them, she slid her arm over his chest, leaning her head on his shoulder and feeling the heat of his body and the rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her hand. The tension of his body didn’t dissolve. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Your clothing.” Why couldn’t she say leggings? “Are you cold?”

He shook his head.

“Hungry?” Oh, Odin’s ghost, why did she say that?

“No, I’m good. Why? Did you bring anything to cook?”

She looked up at him, his face so close, illuminated with moving light that changed his features. The excitement of being so close to him, of having so much of her skin touching his, now mixed with a jagged spin of worry. “Not exactly.”

 _“_ Wait - what did you bring?”

“Bring?” Maybe she could distract him. She slid her arm further across his chest to pull herself closer. He tilted himself away so he could look down at her face.

“When I got to the meadow, you said you had something for me.”

“Oh, that.”

He nudged her with his body, and her own heart began to beat harder. “Well?”

She shifted to reach for her bag, which rested on the far edge of the blanket, and the icy cold of her braid fell back against her shoulder. She flinched.

“What?”

“My hair - it’s freezing.” She sat up, pushed the blanket away, and tried to wring her hair out again, but had little success. She was more cold now than she had been outside. Stupid hair.

“Here. Move in front of me. I’ll unwind it and spread it out so it dries.”

She looked into his eyes. He was paying close attention, watching her, and she wondered if he was making sure she understood what he was saying, what it might mean.

She pulled her bag by the strap so that it was next to her, then smiled at him. “Thanks.”

They shifted positions until she settled in front of him, between his knees, her legs tucked under her. He handed her the edges of the blanket to wrap around them both, and slowly, carefully, pulled the tie from the end of her braid and unwound it.

“Gods, Astrid, your hair is freezing! How do you stand it in the winter?”

“I wrap it in cloth until it’s mostly dry, then sit in front of the fire.”

“When was the last time you cut it?” His voice was soft, and she could feel the deliberate movements of his hands as he tried not to tug any snarls as he unwound all the coils.

“Two years ago? Maybe?” She couldn't remember for sure. Aside from when she brushed it or washed it, her hair was something she tied back and kept tightly out of her way. Only when it was down around her shoulders and over her back did she take any amount of joy in it, but she couldn't bring herself to cut it, either. 

He nodded slowly but didn’t answer. He moved a long, wavy piece over her shoulder so she could grab it with her fingertips. It gave her something to do to keep herself from fidgeting.

With care and precision, and the focused attention she found intoxicating, he unwound her braid, handing her the long pieces as he freed them so she could slide more water out with her fingers. When he finished unraveling the smaller braids that were tucked into the larger one, she reached into her bag and found a bit of cloth that wasn’t too wet. Allowing the blanket to drop to her waist, she squeezed and blotted the water out, then turned to the side so she could reach behind her to braid it without elbowing him.

Normally, when Astrid braided her own hair, she stared at nothing, her eyes unfocused, so she could feel more accurately what she was doing. She couldn’t see the braid she created behind her head and had to rely on the familiarity of movement to guide her, the texture of her braid telling her how it looked. So when she glanced over her shoulder and saw his face, she nearly dropped the half-wound plait. He was watching her hands, his brows down, focused so intently on her movements, as if what she was doing was of the deepest importance instead of something she did every day - something he’d seen her do multiple times over the years at the springs, after swimming, after patrol on windy nights. He stared like he hadn’t seen any of it before.

He glanced up when her movements stopped. The way he smiled at her, desire and humor mixed together, she was surprised her hair didn’t catch fire with the rest of her. She needed to focus. 

“What were you going to ask for?”

He frowned. “What?”

She had to wet her lips and unwind a few plaits with her fingers before she could speak again. “What prize were you about to ask for, when the storm came?”

There was no hiding the blush on his face. To her delight, which she didn’t bother concealing, the flush spread down his neck, too. Her laugh began quietly and grew as she tried to keep braiding her hair and dropped half if it, amused at her own clumsiness.

“You’re making a mess - let me.” He brushed her hands away and took up the long mass of her hair, deftly winding it into three sections, then braiding it with a rapid efficiency that made it difficult for her to breathe. He wound the braid into a coil and secured it with the tie she held in her hand.

“Thank you.”

Astrid didn’t turn to lean back against his chest, though. She shifted so she half faced him, her side resting against his bent leg, tucked into the curve of his body. The redness on his face and neck continued to grow. “So, what was your prize?”

He pressed his lips together. She placed her hand on his chest, tapping her fingers. “Well?”

He didn’t answer. She spread her hand flat against his chest, feeling the wild rhythm of his heartbeat, and slid her fingers toward his side.

“Come on. You have to tell me.”

He took a breath to answer, then shook his head.

That’s when she dug her fingers into his ribs and he shrieked.

The two of them wrestled awkwardly, Astrid trying to continue tickling him, and Hiccup trying to capture both of her hands. He was caught between moving her hands away and trying not to push her toward the fire, and she used his untenable position against him as best she could. She underestimated how strong his arms were, though, and how much the flex of his biceps and the ridges of his abdomen would distract her as she tried to pull her hands out of his reach.

Their laughter and yelps of frustration and momentary victory echoed off the cave walls, surrounding them. “Tell me!”

“Wait- no, you can’t…”

“Oh, yes, I can.”

She ended up straddling his knees, trying to hold him still. He’d caught her hands and held them behind her back. Their faces were inches apart, their laughter and uneven breathing accompanying their temporary hold on one another.

“You have to tell me.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Nope. You tell me first.”

“Hiccup, if you don’t - let go of my hands.”

He shifted his grip so he held both her wrists with one of his. The thrill that went through her at seeing and feeling the strength he carried in his body expanded with a bit of fury when he covered her mouth with his fingers. “Be quiet.”

She glared at him. Then she leaned back slightly, and bit the inside of his fingertips.

“Hey!”

“Hiccup Horren-“

In an instant, he slid his hand past her cheek, behind her jaw, pulled her close, and kissed her.

Astrid wasn’t sure if anger moved her forward or if Hiccup pulled her off balance, but she ended up half across his lap, her hands in his hair, his mouth burning beneath hers. She shifted so that she sat astride him, and felt him pull her even closer, felt his arms pull her downward as his body lifted to meet hers, so that she could feel the ridge of his arousal.

She couldn’t stop kissing him. Her body went up in flames like the dry kindling behind her. His hands were everywhere, kneading, pressing, sliding over her shift, then pulling her closer. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, and that sound mixed with the roughness of their breathing made it seem that the storm was beside them, between them, instead of outside the cave that concealed them both.

Astrid wanted to put her hands everywhere at once. His hair, his shoulders - it was so rare for Hiccup to be without his flight armor, let alone without a shirt, and she never had the chance to explore his skin the way she wanted to. The light was slowly fading, since they hadn’t added more fuel to the fire, but she didn’t care and didn’t want to add more tinder. It was too far away and she didn’t need her eyesight all that much, not when she had her hands, her fingertips, her mouth and tongue, and every nerve ending that tingled where his skin pressed against hers.

Then she realized that Hiccup’s hands were sliding up her thighs, the tips of his fingers beneath the hem of her shift and her heart nearly stopped.

Finally, _finally_ , she thought to herself.

His hands continued their slow, careful journey while his mouth was as wild as hers, biting, kissing and sliding over her lips again and again.

They didn’t need the fire at all, she realized as his hands covered the curve of her hips and made her shiver and press closer to him. They were probably lighting up the room by themselves. At least, there were enough explosions of light behind her eyelids that she thought it was possible.

“Astrid…” Hiccup whispered between kisses. “I’m… don’t-“

She growled at him. “If you’re about to try to talk me out of anything going on right now, stop right there.”

“Wasn’t going to,” he said, his lips moving over the curve of her jaw and down her throat. Dear gods, that felt good. The slight rasp of his hair, his skin, his teeth over her collarbone nearly made her cry out. His lips found the spot where her neck met her shoulder and his teeth scraped over it, making her rock her hips toward him and grab at his hair, her fingers catching in the tiny braid she’d made. It had been months, but he kept it, let her fix it when it unraveled.

He was unraveling her now. His hands slid up her body, across her back and over her sides, coming to rest beneath her breasts, the edge of his thumbs tracing the curve of each and making her shake.

She pulled away slightly, lowering her face until he opened his eyes and looked at her. His eyes were glazed and glorious, fiery hot and determined.

Astrid felt the warmth of his hand and the whispered touch of his fingertips across her collarbone, the heat of his palm sliding over her breast. Her breath caught.

But Hiccup didn’t look away. He didn’t look down to see his fingers on her skin, his hand on her breast beneath her shift.

He was watching her face, reading her closely, watching for every sign of her reaction to his touch. Even now, his hands, what he did, where he put them, how he moved, every movement was about her, not him.

He didn’t look to see what he did; he watched to see how it made her feel.

His touch was for her.

Her breath sped up, and so did his. His eyes never wavered, never looked away from her face. He read the movement of her lips, the fast blink of her eyes, the way her mouth moved as she tried to say something and couldn’t make sense of any words she knew. The things he was doing with his fingertips, the coarse texture of the callouses on his palm against the tender underside of her breast, the way he teased her nipple, blew every thought from her head. He read every sign and followed every moment with more sensation. 

Hiccup’s expression was curious, attentive. And familiar. She’d seen that look before, when he was drawing a map from the sky or observing a new island they’d never seen before. Only now, she was the territory he was exploring, the land he discovered with his fingers, his hands, his mouth.

"You know me." Her voice was a rasp, uneven and ragged.

"I do."

"You mapped me, didn't you?"

“N-no….”

"Yes, you did." She caught his expression before he glanced away. “Oh, my gods. You totally did!”

"Not on paper!"

She laughed, joy and arousal mixing and making everything, every touch better, setting off sparks within her body. “If you did, you’d better show me.”

The deep red flush on his face made her look more closely. “Wait a minute. What are you hiding?”

“Nothing. I… I noticed things.”

"Yeah, like what?"

She shifted back on his lap and tried to interpret his smile, but it was too enigmatic, and made her a little irritated.

He put his hands on her sides, and ran his palms from her hips to her ribcage. She gasped.

"I know from lifting you onto your saddle, or onto mine, and from flying with you, that your sides are sensitive."

He wasn't wrong about that.

His hand moved to her neck, and with his other arm he pulled her forward, his lips and teeth following the touch of his fingertips.

Her head fell back and he gathered her braid smoothly in one hand, twisting it into a rope that held her still with gentle firmness.

"You always cover your neck and shoulders, with armor, or with a hood," he said.

He kissed, then bit her neck, his mouth open and hot, and she trembled, clutching at his shoulders.

"You always tuck your hair behind your ear," he continued, his teeth scraping the skin behind her jaw.

Astrid was afraid to move, in case he stopped. And she didn’t want him to stop what he was doing. Ever.

Then he lifted his gaze to hers and moved her hair off her forehead. "Here, too. You push your hair off your face."

Tenderly, so softly, he kissed her forehead, her temple, her cheek, then her mouth.

But when he reached her mouth, it all changed, from tender to scorching. His tongue met hers, and he wound her braid tighter around his hand to bring her closer to him. She was held by her hair, by his arms, and by the desire to always feel his teeth and lips on her skin. Astrid had no idea being confined felt so much like an explosion.

Hiccup continued exploring her.

"I know how strong you are," he said against her mouth, his free hand tracing her shoulder, her arms, feeling the contours of her muscles and the smoothness of her skin.

Then he reached her hand, which was gripping his upper arm as if his strength was the only thing holding her to the ground.

“I was going to ask for your vambraces.”

She blinked at him, confused. “My - what? Why? Wait, both of them?”

He nodded.

“You can’t have both. That’s two. You only get one.”

He raised a brow.

She glared at him. “Well, it’s a moot point now, since they’re already off.”

“Fine. I only get one.”

The half smile on his face told her he expected her to laugh, but the scorching heat inside her that grew when he moved his hand over her wrist and forearm was nothing to laugh at.

He ran his fingertips, rough with callouses and scars, over the sensitive skin of her arm, then beneath her wrist. Her forearms were always covered, protected by layers of fur and leather. She felt the sparks of his touch flood her everywhere.

“I know your armor…pretty well since I’ve fixed it enough times.”

She couldn’t respond. She was unable to move or even breathe normally, like she’d been hit by a Flightmare again, just from the touch of his hand across her wrist. Her hand clutched his shoulder, the shift of his muscles unaffected by her hold.

He noticed what she concealed, what she protected.

Her eyes closed when he lifted her hand, turned his head and brought her wrist to his lips. She expected the whispering softness of his breath, or the slight pressure of a kiss, but when the edge of his teeth slid over her skin, she gasped, drawing air like she’d forgotten how.

His other arm kept her still against him, her braid still wrapped around his hand, not painful but firm, a wall of strength and intention holding her upright in his embrace.

The roughened edge of his chin slid along the inside of her arm. Then she felt his lips against her neck, moving up toward her jaw as his hand moved over her wrist.

His whisper was rough, the warmth of his breath gentle. “I know you.”

He did.

He noticed the parts of her that no one saw, and wanted to explore them.

When he reached up to tilt her face toward his, she opened her eyes. He was grinning, that half smile that belonged only to her. She leaned down to kiss him, but he spoke before she could.

“And I know you're very curious.” Then he placed her hand on his chest and held it beneath his.

Her mouth opened slightly, but it was two breaths, then three, before she could speak.

“Yes.”

She ran her hands over his skin, her eyes following her movements, watching his breathing change, the muscles tensing then relaxing, seeing how her touch affected him. Exploring him after waiting for so long made her greedy and overwhelmed. She felt like she'd been dropped into a land she had only glimpsed from above and didn't know, and she wanted to see every part of it first.

One of the small branches on the fire fell behind them, sending sparks into the air. Light spread across his body in a gentle wave.

"You have freckles," she whispered.

"I do," he agreed with a wry expression. He released her hair and let her braid fall against her back before bringing his hands to her body.

Where he had been intent on exploring the parts of her that no one saw, Astrid was, at last, free to touch and experience the parts of him that she’d seen a million times but never been able to touch. He might have become hesitant to remove his shirt in front of her lately, but she’d seen him stripped to the waist so many times. Sparring with Tuffnut, swimming at the coves - it didn’t matter until she realized she wasn’t supposed to look as long as she wanted to. She couldn’t run her fingers over his skin, trace each freckle and find a path across his body connecting them one to another.

Now that she could touch him, the route she followed over his shoulders, across his chest, tracing the ridges of his abdomen, the firm curves of his arm muscles, that path belonged to her. The way he breathed, the stutter when he tried to speak again, the way he swallowed and tried again, the heat between them that grew when he kissed her, all of that was hers.

The muscles on his stomach fascinated her, and she mapped his body with her hands as she tasted the skin on the side of his neck, making him shiver.

His body was a revelation to her, and the strength within it. She’d seen him an immeasurable number of times in her life, but only now did she learn what he felt like beneath the surface of what she saw, how much of his courage and stubbornness resided in the solidity of his body, the immovable power that hid beneath his skin and made him who he was.

And only now did she learn what he felt like beneath her as she explored and tasted him.

Astrid scraped her nails lightly over his nipples and he arched his back and drew a breath through his teeth.

“You like that,” she said, more to herself than to him. She lifted her head to look at him.

"I don't think there's much you can do in this moment that I wouldn't like," he said, his thumbs tracing the undersides of her breasts along her ribcage. It was her turn to arch against him, and he brought her breast to his mouth, taking her nipple through her shirt. The fierce heat mixed with rough fabric made her writhe.

He intensified everything he was doing, his mouth tormenting her while he slowly moved his hands down, down across her stomach, over her hips, curving his palm beneath her to slide further, seeking wetness and warmth, both of which she knew he would find.

And still, again, so intently, when he lifted his head to kiss her, he opened his eyes. He watched her face, carefully observing every reaction, every twitch or gasp, the signals that told him which way to go, what to do, what to do again, and again.

She could barely keep her eyes open, but his gaze was wonder and pride, and scorching heat.

Astrid knew a lot about her own pleasure, how to achieve it and how her body worked. But she didn’t know as much about his, how to do more than just arrive at orgasm. She wanted him blind and out of his mind with arousal, aching and undone, the way she was when he did anything to her. The way she was right at that moment.

She wanted to do to him what he was doing to her, to make him unravel a fraction at a time.

She wanted to throw him down and do things that were all about his reaction. She wanted to break his control and make him scream her name.

She wanted to follow the two long curves that began above his hips and ran down below the waistband of his leggings, to see where they ended, if they ended. She wanted to taste what she’d touched. She wanted more, more of him, more time to explore, more time to taste and learn what made him scream.

Her forehead rested against his, her breath shallow, intermixed with scorching kisses that made her writhe. Still, he watched her.

She pressed her hand against his, guiding his touch, shifting the intensity. She would ride him like she rode his hand, his fingers sliding along and inside her, the rocking of her hips bringing exactly what she needed as he slowly pressed against her, harder and harder.

She would ride him this way.

She would make him feel like he was about to break apart.

She would watch him shatter beneath her.

She would.

In a minute.

She had to scream first, right there, there, just - oh, _Gods_.


	26. Disengaging and Distracting

Astrid came back down to the ground after flying straight up for… she had no idea how many minutes. Hiccup’s hands brought her back. She’d fallen forward and he’d caught her, her forehead on his shoulder, her breath across his chest. Her hands covered his biceps, and it was the flexing hardness of them that caught her attention when her mind stopped spinning in endless directions.

Hardness.

She slowly lifted her head to look at him.

He looked concerned, but pleased with himself. She smiled slowly, which made him look wary, his eyebrows lowering. That only made her smile more. His expression when he was perturbed was so tempting.

She leaned in and kissed him, stretching out on top of him, her knees on either side of his hips, her body pressed against the length of his. She kissed him, changing the angle as she slowly shifted her body downward, her hands and then her mouth sliding over his chest, his neck, biting that spot on his shoulder near his neck that she’d bitten before. He made the best noise when she surprised him.

Then she scraped the edge of her teeth along his collarbone, savoring the gasp and shudder that followed. His hands grabbed at her hips, her sides, sliding along her ribs in uneven movements as she made her way across his chest, licking, biting, and tasting him. His breath moved faster, and he kept trying to speak, which was just ridiculous.

“Astrid-“

She glanced up. “Are you in pain?”

“N- _no._ ” He looked at her, confused.

“Then you should be quiet.”

He stared, mouth working as if he was trying to think of what to say.

Then he gripped her ribcage and pulled her closer, kissing her deeply as his fingers slid across her breasts, then up to tease, then pinch her nipples. She broke away with a gasp. So sensitive.

That smug look was back. Time to remove it permanently, she thought to herself.

She grinned at him, then brought her teeth to his nipple, scraping across, then pulling the tip with the edges before letting go. He arched his back and gasped so loud, it echoed around them. She did it again, then again. Harder. The noise he made was delicious.

This was fun. Terrible, impossible fun.

She slowly made her way down his body, teasing incredible gasps and moans from his lips as she explored gently, then with her teeth and nails, learning what he liked, what he seemed to like more. Only once did she tickle him inadvertently. And once on purpose. Maybe twice.

Then she reached the waistband of his leggings, stretched taut over his hips, and felt him freeze.

He’d move, shift or push her away in a moment, if he didn’t stop her altogether. And she prayed he didn’t. She wanted to keep going so badly.

“Wait… stop.”

She was going to kill him. Twice.

“The storm….” His breathing was like the cliffs, patches of smoothness interrupted by uneven and sharp edges.

“You’re giving me a weather report?”

“What?”

“You’re thinking about the rain. Right now.”

“Astrid, you have no idea what weird things I have to think of.”

She frowned. “What?”

“Just…wait. Listen - the storm. It stopped.”

He sat up and lifted her as well, holding her upper arms in his hands gently, looking up toward the entrance to the cave.

“So?”

He looked at her, sadness and determination on his face. She decided she hated that expression.

“We should go.”

“No, Hiccup. No, we should not.”

How did he have such control over himself that he could pull himself back while she wanted to throw her body and his into the fire they created between them? She wanted to scream.

Then she listened to his touch instead of to his words. His hands were curved around her upper arms, his thumbs brushing across her skin, his fingers gripping then releasing as if he were afraid of hurting her. His breathing was jagged and rough, and the heat of his erection burned through his leggings and pressed against her, making her feel both languid and ferocious, like she wanted to move as fast as she could while holding still so that clear, sharp pleasure within her didn’t come to an end. His hips moved, then he stilled, then moved again, and her hands slid from his hair to his shoulders, her hands grasping his skin like she was holding onto a wall she was climbing, and the ground was far away below her.

It was like he was battling himself, like he was caught between movement and stillness, too. She wondered if she could help one side win that war, the side that would result in all the things with him that she’d thought about but hadn’t yet experienced.

He laughed, a short, rueful huff of sound, and when the cloudy distraction of desire began to dissipate from her mind and she drew breath to argue with him again, she realized how much darker and quieter it had become. The fire behind them had died down, and the storm outside was gone, a gentle rain instead of torrents of wet rage.

He was right, Thor damn it.

“You go,” he said. “I’ll put out the fire and pack the supplies back into their bundles.”

She didn’t reply, and she didn’t move. She wanted to stay, finish what she had started, what he’d started.

It wasn’t fair.

She frowned at him, but before she could speak, he pulled her toward him and kissed her, deeply, almost setting her on fire again.

When they parted, her breathing and her balance unsteady, he whispered, “We’ve borrowed enough time already.”

“You’re right. I really hate it when you’re right.”

She stood, grabbing her leggings and shaking them out. They were damp but not so wet they were impossible to put on.

“But it happens so often.” He remained on the blanket, checking the skin of his leg.

“Wait, are you going to be able to walk from here? Want me to send someone on a dragon?”

“No, not necessary. I’m going to wait here, then head over to the springs.”

She nodded, pulling on her clothing, which was more soggy and not entirely comfortable. He was right, and she knew it, but the plummeting feeling of disappointment didn’t wane. They had so little time together, time where it was just the two of them, and it wasn’t fair.

At least they’d had some, she lectured to the part of her that was still pouting. And that portion of time had been delicious, too.

Delicious.

She grabbed her bag and dropped down to the blanket next to Hiccup, close to his side, facing him.

“Almost forgot.”

“What?”

“What I brought you.”

She reached into her bag and pulled out a small wrapped parcel of waxed cloth, folded over itself many times. She had to unwind it carefully on her lap, and hoped as she did that the contents hadn’t crumbled.

“That smells good,” Hiccup said, moving closer to watch the movements of her hands. She caught a trace of his scent, familiar and tantalizing, and desire raced through her like a spear of lightning. Her hands shook a moment before she caught her breath.

“Made you something.” She reached the core of the parcel and revealed several small oddly shaped bundles of spice and sugar.

“What are those - wait, is that…?”

Astrid lifted one and broke it in half. She quickly took a bite of her piece, but when she lifted the other to his mouth, he looked wary.

She smirked at him. “Trust me,” she said, once she’d swallowed her portion.

“I trust you,” he said, still wary, almost like he was reminding himself. Then he took a bite from the piece she held in her fingertips.

His eyes widened, and a shocked smile broke across his face, so wide and goofy that it made her laugh aloud. “Oh, come on, I’m not that bad of a cook.”

“I love these!” He took the rest of the piece from her hand and examined it closely.

“I know,” she replied.

“You made them?”

“Yeah. Sigrid is very involved in the wedding banquet. VERY involved. Like, I stay away from her as much as possible. But she needed help rolling all the dough so I gave her hand. Not much different from rolling bundles of ammunition. Smells better, though.”

Hiccup laughed, then took another sweet from the cloth that rested across her legs. “I haven’t had these in a long, long time. Not since I was a kid. Where’d Sigrid get all the spices?”

“In the great hall. I think your dad bought the entire cargo from the last six ships that have come to Berk. Sigrid showed me. There is so much stored in the back chambers, you wouldn’t believe it. Barrels and barrels of mead. Spices by the bagful. It smells incredible back there.”

“Huh. We haven’t had that many ships lately. He must have been preparing for the wedding for awhile.”

Astrid shrugged. “Sigrid told me he’s been buying food and ingredients for months now.”

Hiccup paused with another sweet halfway to his mouth, his expression thoughtful.

“Come on, they’re not that bad,” Astrid teased him.

“What? No, no, not at all.” He took another bite, delight apparent on his face. “They’re wonderful. I can’t believe you made them.”

“Why, because they’re edible?”

“No,” Hiccup said in protest, nudging her with his arm.

She laughed. “Last one is yours, too.”

“What about you?”

“I have more sweets ahead of me this week. Sigrid demanded my help. And besides,” she said, grinning at him. “It’s strategy.”

The hiss of the wind blowing across the narrow entrance to the cave caught her attention.

“Time for me to go, I guess.”

Hiccup leaned against the rock behind him, feeling the edges of his leg, checking the skin. “Yeah.”

His voice was neutral, too bland if there was such a thing, and she had trouble reading it.

“You… ok?”

He glanced at her. “Sure, sure.”

Astrid narrowed her eyes. “I will tickle you again.”

He held his arms up. “No, no. I’m fine.”

“Hiccup, you’re being weird again.”

“Weird? Or weird-er?”

“Ok, that’s it,” she said, pushing the empty cloth to the side and jumping over him before he could react. She straddled his lap, her legs alongside his knees, her hands by his hips, so her face was in front of his. “What’s wrong?”

Hiccup’s face was almost comical, and she would have laughed if she hadn’t been so frustrated. He looked startled and nervous, but an expression of longing moved across his face, one that caused an answering ache to form low in her belly.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said, shaking his head. “I can tell you are enjoying my lack of mobility, though.”

Astrid sat back. “You bet I am. Are you sure you're alright?"

He nodded. 

"So, where will I see you this evening?”

“This evening?”

“Yeah, you know, later. After dinner and fourteen million chores?”

His eyes unfocused, and she could tell his mind was spinning head, making plans and figuring out the answer. “Meet me at the forge, well after dinner. I think most of the preparations will be going on in the great hall. I’ll be in my workshop.”

“Ok, then,” she said, the ache in her stomach changing rapidly to anticipation. She was rather fond of Hiccup’s workroom.

“I’ll teach you to make bread,” he said, the half smile that she craved appearing on his face.

She leaned forward to kiss him, and when her lips met his, she nearly fell, which was something since she was supported by both her hands and her knees. There was no reason for her balance to fail.

Except that she tasted spice and sweetness, and the familiar desire turned into hunger, burning her inside and out. She didn’t want to stop kissing him, and she didn’t want to leave the cave. She wanted to cover his body with spices and taste every piece of him.

But eventually his hands came to rest on her hips, and while his mouth met hers in endless movement and determination, she could tell from the flexing of his fingers on her waist that he was pulling away from her. Or trying to. She didn’t want to let him let go of her.

“Time, huh?” Her voice was a low whisper between them.

He nodded. “Come to the forge tonight.”

There was a note of command, a dark, demanding sound in his voice, and it made her shiver. She nodded instantly.

And with spare movements and a gentle kiss she kept short to preserve her own sanity, she gathered her things and left the cave.

 

…

 

 

The trip to the door of the cave was short enough, but the violent wash of rain over the island had left muddy rivulets in the cliffs and made walking treacherous. Sliding was a definite, though not welcome, possibility.

Hiccup tightened the cuff of his prosthesis with a grimace, hating the pinch of pain but knowing it was necessary, and made his way down the same spill of fallen rock he’d climbed up. The gravel gave way beneath him, so he slid, but he stayed upright until he reached the grass.

Everything sparkled.

The sun had emerged from behind the clouds, and he could see the dark smudges of the storm clouds over the trees to the south. It might still be raining in Berk, but in the meadow, the sunlight hit the droplets of water and lit them individually. Each leaf, each needle in the pine trees sparkled and danced in the remnants of the storm. The air was cooler, and the indecisive breeze changed its strength repeatedly so water fell in random patterns to the ground. It was beautiful.

Astrid had gathered his weapons and placed them at the bottom of a large pine at the edge of the woods, so he rested against the trunk while readjusting his leg, looking up at the sky through the branches. Water dripped on him where he stood, but he didn’t move. He wanted as much of the dirt from the cave off his clothing and skin before anyone saw him. 

He picked up his weapons and began to walk. The wooden and metal staves were useful in keeping his weight away from his leg, which was still sore and throbbing a bit. Fortunately the walk to the springs was a short one, even after several stops to deliberately jump into standing water and shake droplets from the trees above him. He hadn’t stomped in puddles since he was really small, but it hadn’t lost any of the initial charm - or the subsequent unpleasantness of cold water dripping down his skin when he was done.

As he suspected, when he reached the hot spring, it was crowded. Most everyone would have been as surprised by the fast-moving rainstorm as he had, except for maybe Fishlegs’ mother. If much of Berk had gotten muddy, cold, and wet, once the storm passed they’d all gravitate toward the springs to warm up and clean off. It was wash day anyway.

Usually, Hiccup waited until everyone was done to go to the springs; he was surrounded by people most of the day, so he liked the quiet, and he liked the privacy. But after the thunderous storm both outside the cave and inside his head, he needed distraction.

Fortunately for him, both Snotlout and Tuffnut were there, jumping from the old rope swing into the deeper side of the springs, splashing some the men who sat along the perimeter. Between the bellows of challenge and the low grumbles of annoyance, there was plenty to divert his attention.

The volume of the indignation increased while Hiccup greeted a few of the villagers and found a dry place against the cliffs behind the rope swing to remove his clothing. Tuffnut was submerged in the springs, the ropes of his hair floating around him like blonde tentacles, while Snotlout hollered at him from the side of the pool.

“No, I am not going to jump in head first. Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“No, not at all. Only a smidge under educated.”

“Oh, really? And you’re an expert in all things intellect?”

“Well,” Tuff said, swimming backwards until he found a place he could stand. “I am the most wise, and most educated member of the group.”

Hiccup shook his head. There was no one better at baiting Snotlout than Tuff, and Snotlout fell for it every time.

“Don’t even tell me you’re talking about that stupid book, because I can tell you, there is not a single useful thing in it. Not one. Zero. Yak egg. NOTHING.”

Tuff stood tall, his eyes wide. “Oh, you’ve seen it, have you?”

“No, but-“

“So you don’t know, do you? You don’t know anything about what you don’t know at all.”

Snotlout growled and then launched himself into the spring, making an enormous splash that ruffled the beards and tempers of most everyone relaxing on that side of the pool. He missed all of it. He stayed underwater until he surfaced near Tuffnut.

“I know plenty. And that book is useless.”

“That’s not what Ruffnut said.”

“Ruffnut? Your sister? The one who tied me to a tree and left me there? Ha. Said she was inspired by ancient writing. Some inspiration.”

“Wait, she... what? Oh. Oh, dear.”

“Yeah. She did. So, is that’s what’s in the book? Tie someone to a tree and leave them in the forest?”

“Uh, no. Well, maybe. But not now.”

Snotlout glared at Tuff, who backed away, tapping the ends of his fingers together in rapid, nervous rhythm.

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, there were a few pages after that tree part, but….”

“But WHAT?”

“I might have taken them… out.”

Snotlout rolled his eyes. “Are you KIDDING me?”

“Well, Ruff, you know, she’s not the idea person in our joint operation. She does the research. I’m the idea man. I have all the _ideas_.”

“I have an idea. How about I hold your head underwater until you shut up already?”

“No, no, tried that. Didn’t work. The ideas are endless. Never-ceasing supply of brilliance, that’s me. But I can tell you what was on the pages after the tree part.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Hiccup had moved to the edge of the pool, his leggings rolled up above his knees so he could remove his leg. He didn’t like taking it off in front of Snotlout, or leaving it where Snotlout, who had just as many ideas, most of them awful, might find it. But he needed to bathe, and he couldn’t sit on the edge all evening. That would draw way too much attention toward himself, which he did not want. Berk wasn’t populated with the most observant of vikings, but someone would notice that the same mud and dust covered him and Astrid if she hadn’t had a chance to go to the springs yet, and he didn’t want anyone to make that connection.

So he removed his leg and set it on a rock at the edge of the springs alongside some soap and a towel. He pulled his leggings off and put them on top of his leg to conceal it, or at least make it slightly harder to steal.

He always felt unpleasantly conspicuous getting into the hot springs if someone else was there, let alone a good third of the village. But as usual, no one really paid him any attention as he slid into the rolling warmth and let it cover his head. Maybe that unpleasant feeling of being observed was more in his mind than in reality.

When he surfaced and pulled the soap into the water with him, Tuff and Snotlout were still arguing. Well, Snotlout was arguing, and Tuffnut was insistently describing the pages that were allegedly in the book after the part about the tree. A number of the men in the springs moved closer to their conversation, some pretending not to listen, and others openly eavesdropping.

“So the rope is to hold you still, right?”

“I got that part, you muttonhead.”

“And once you’re restrained, well, not all of the language is clear, but I think there’s an axe, or the pole of an axe, what’s that called? The axe pole? Pole part?”

“The handle?”

“Right. Exactly. Clearly you're paying attention. Good job." So there’s something that looks like a handle, but it moves around the page.” Tuffnut was illustrating with his hands, and neither his gestures nor his words made much sense.

Snotlout growled audibly.

"So there’s something that looks like a handle, but it moves around the page.” Tuffnut was illustrating with his hands, and neither his gestures nor his words made much sense.

Except to Hiccup, who knew exactly what Tuff was describing. There was a section about tying someone up in the book he hid in his desk. He was was  convinced it was a copy or different version of the book Tuff had read, or tried to read. As far as Hiccup could decipher, the restraints were for a variety of purposes, but he didn’t remember an illustration of a tree in his copy.

And given Astrid’s predilection for trees and pushing him against them, he’d have remembered those pages, and worked harder to read them.

Hiccup ducked under the water to hide the hot flush that covered his face, and used the pretense of rinsing his hair to stay below the water until he felt like he could surface without too many obvious signs of embarrassment.

“So then, after you’re tied up, there’s, uh, well, a number of options that could happen. Or could have happened if I hadn’t removed those pages for further study.”

Hiccup needn’t have worried. Snotlout’s face was far more red than his, with rage and possibly discomfort. Most of the men in the springs were listening avidly now, some elbowing their neighbor and lifting their chins toward Snotlout.

“The first page was mostly writing, which, no thanks. Reading. What a waste. Am I right? Especially when you have pictures.”

Eager nods from the men listening encouraged Tuff, who rarely needed encouragement to keep talking.

“That’s why I took the pages out, of course. Because the pictures are worth more. Far more. In fact!” Tuffnut turned to the men behind him. “I will be happy to entertain offers to purchase those pages!”

To say that people fell over themselves to bid on the pictures would be an understatement. Half of the men disappeared into the water when they stood up and started calling Tuff’s name, forgetting that the pool depth varied. The springs were deep in the center and the bottom dropped away with little warning, which is one reason why Hiccup stayed at the edge. Vikings resurfaced and swam in a frenzy toward Tuff, who hopped onto a rock on the side of the pool, sat down cross-legged, and rubbed his hands together with delight.

Snotlout stood in waist deep water, his fisted hands on his hips, his face deep red with outrage. “I should be having these pages! They’re mine! I-“

He was cut off by someone shouting, “Got tied up and left for dead?”

“No! That’s not what happened!” Snotlout’s red face became more purple as he glared, trying to identify who had taunted him.

“I have an offer for a tree of sheep, which is nice, and some yak dung tea, which is even nicer. Who else wishes to bid on this sacred knowledge?”

“It’s MINE.” Snotlout’s roar echoed off the cliffs, but any impressive effect was lost when most of the men in the water started laughing.

“Only if you’ve got more sheep and extra yak dung tea, my fine fellow,” Tuff replied with a smirk.

Hiccup bit the inside of his lips to keep himself from laughing, because he knew Snotlout would completely lose his temper if he saw. As annoying, boastful, disgusting, and sometimes cruel as Snotlout was, Hiccup knew he was also very sensitive. Having half the men in the village laughing at him was likely to make him lash out, and if Hiccup joined in, Snotlout’s reaction would be even worse.

The bidding and shouts were interrupted by Hoark and Fishlegs’ arrival. Tuff jumped up onto the tall flat rock Hiccup usually sat on after bathing.

“Hoark! Excellent! What would you offer me for illustrated pages of incredible knowledge involving ropes and trees and possibly axe handles?”

Hoark looked at him with a blank expression, but Fishlegs began to turn red.

“Tuff, I’m standing RIGHT HERE.”

Tuff blinked at Fishlegs. “I know.”

“Look, neither Fishface OR Hoark should be getting those pages. They’re MINE.”

Hiccup was tempted for a split second to pull Snotlout aside and offer to give him the information he was clearly desperate to have, but kept silent.

Hoark clearly had no idea what Tuffnut was talking about. He glanced at Fishlegs, frowned, and then answered in a jovial voice as he pulled off his tunic. “No, thanks. I’m good.”

Tuff narrowed his eyes and tapped his chin, an expression he probably thought looked shrewd and cunning but in Hiccup’s opinion more resembled gassy discomfort.

“I must ponder! I cannot make my decision now.” His announcement was met with groans and scoffing. The men moved back to the rocks they’d been sitting on. Hoark and Fishlegs had climbed into the water, and the conversations began to center on the wedding and the feast afterward that was likely to last almost a week.

Tuffnut leaped into the center of the pool and when he surfaced, he was greeted by a furious Snotlout.

Tuffnut looked unconcerned, but Hiccup noticed Tuff kept a bit of distance between himself and Snotlout, though he continued to taunt him. “You, sir, still have time to make me an offer. A good one. Preferably involving yaks.”

“I’m going to involve a yak alright. I’ll tie you to one.”

“Ha. Not likely. It’s not in the book. Though….”

Snotlout covered his face with a groan. “Oh, for Odin’s sake, would you just shut up?”

Fishlegs moved to sit on a rock ledge near Hiccup.

“Not Dragons?”

Hiccup nodded. “Not Dragons.”

“Oh, dear Thor.”

Hiccup glanced at him. What was it about this book that so upset Fishlegs? “What’s wrong?”

Fishlegs was red faced and looking increasingly miserable. “Well, it’s…oh, never mind.”

Hiccup didn’t pry, in part because Tuff and Snotlout were moving closer, and he didn’t want either to overhear.

Tuffnut found a rock beneath the water on Hiccup’s right and sat down, leaning back against the jagged edge of stone behind them and shifting to scratch his back. “Hiccup. Fishlegs. I didn’t hear you bidding on my knowledge.”

Ordinarily, Hiccup wouldn’t have answered, but Fishlegs looked so flushed and unhappy, he felt like he had to distract Tuff and Snotlout’s attention. He scrambled to think of something.

“Yeah. You know, you said that your uncle Gunarr gave you the, ah, Book of Not Dragons. Did he mean for you to keep it? Because ripping pages out? That might not -“

“Oh, no. It’s mine. Well, was mine. Ruff stole it again. But she’ll bring it back. She has to bring it back. I have all the _ideas._ ”

“Yeah. You mentioned that.”

“UGH. Enough ideas.” Snotlout leaned back and closed his eyes, but his mouth was tight and his lips were pale, and he was clenching his jaw so tightly his neck appeared to be vibrating. That calm was a superficial facade, and it wouldn’t take much from Tuff to dissolve it.

Gods, his friends were a lot of work sometimes.

So like the other men in the springs, he turned to Fishlegs and asked about the wedding.

“You ready?”

“I suppose. Not much for me to do. Hard part’s done, everything’s agreed on, just have to do the ceremony then go to the party.”

Tuff sat up and drove his fist across the surface of the pool, splashing all of them. “I almost forgot! Fishlegs! Did your mom say anything about the weather for this week?”

“Uh, no, but she’ll be boasting for a few days about having predicted the storm. Especially when _people_ didn’t believe her.” Fishlegs’ not-subtle reference to Snotlout was just enough to make him twitch, but not enough to make him open his eyes.

“Ok, well, if she says it’s going to rain again, or if there’s going to be snow, you have to tell me. Right away. It’s _very_ important.” Tuffnut drew out the last two words slowly, with sharp emphasis on every consonant.

“Snow?” Hiccup started to laugh. “I think we’re fine there. It’s not going to snow for a few months.”

“I disagree, H, most vociferously.” Hiccup shook his head. Where did he learn words like that? For someone who professed to hate reading, he could out-pompous Spitelout, and that took effort.

Fishlegs rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Ok, Tuff. I’ll let you know if my mom says it’s going to snow.”

“Excellent. Snow would be perfect. Perfect for my plans!”

“Oh, Gods. What plans?”

“Thank you for asking, H. I can always count on you.” He started waving his arms, describing something involving dragons, yak milk, Monstrous Nightmare spit, and a full set of bones from a sheep. It was easier to let him talk than to try to make sense of any of it. 

But as usual, Tuffnut and the others were good for distracting him from what he didn’t want to think about yet.


	27. Finding Their Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note, mes amis! No update next week - more travel. But fear not: I won't abandon you!

Astrid flew over Berk with Stormfly, following the same route she’d taken on foot hours earlier. The high path above the village skirted the northern edge. Stormfly tilted in a wide arc above the treetops. Astrid could see just about every part of the village all the way down to the sea.

Most everyone was taking advantage of the cooler temperatures and the light breeze following the storm to continue preparations for the wedding. Banners were being hung from every roofline, flag pole and mast, and the red, gold and black fabric fluttered in the air like Terror wings. Walls were being repaired and shelters constructed for those who would be camping out during the week-long festivities. If Sigrid’s cooking was any indication, at least two villages' worth of vikings were attending, possibly three. There wouldn’t be an unoccupied flat stretch of grass in Berk to be found once the gathering began.

Stormfly banked to the right and flew low over the coast past the docks. A seemingly never-ending line of vikings carried food and supplies up to the village from the docks. Tables were balanced precariously on top of people’s heads while barrels were rolled up the ramps two or three at a time. In the harbor, ships drifted in the tide, hulls low to the water, full of cargo waiting to be unloaded.

None of the ships looked familiar, but Stoick had spoken personally to the traders that typically visited the island and put out the call for supplies months ago. Since then at least one or two new ships had sailed into Berk each week, deck low to the water when they arrived, and sailing high and empty when they left. Stoick bought everything.

Astrid looked at the line of ships awaiting access to the dock and shook her head slowly. There had to be a limit to where they could put everything. Were they building a new storage area somewhere? She hadn’t seen one.

After bringing Stormfly down into the courtyard in front of the stables, she dismounted and send her dragon off to find some food. Now surrounded by the vikings handing off supplies to one another, she stood still, unsure of where to go. She was outside of the easy rhythm of everyone passing bags and barrels hand to hand, not part of the chain and not able to join it, given the tasks ahead of her.

She made her way toward her house, where she knew Sigrid would be up to her shoulders in dough and flour, ready to direct Astrid to a mind-numbing hour or three of rolling, kneading, cutting, and more rolling.

Instead of absently greeting the people around her as she usually did when she was focused on her next task, Astrid walked slowly, looking up at the faces of everyone she passed, greeting people and watching how they reacted.

There were smiles and nods from people she knew, and bigger smiles from people who knew her well. Everyone, even the men stuck with the miserable tasks of increasing the size of the latrines and preparing slaughtered meat for cooking, seemed very happy. Giddy, even. The impending wedding and the festival that would follow had robbed everyone of any piece of bad mood. Everthing was smiles and laughter and encouragement, even when someone dropped a sack and it broke, spilling dried fruit in a wide arc.

She helped clean up the mess, then trudged the last few steps to her house, stepping into and out of the shifting shadows cast on the stones by the banners overhead. They were mostly new, with images of celebration and ancient battle having replaced images of dragon killing in the years since everything changed. Her family crest was on the banner closest to her house, the edges of the fabric worn and looking splintered against the sky. There was another banner of Fearless Finn, but it had been torn and Astrid hadn’t finished mending it. Her eyes narrowed. She needed to finish it, but wasn’t sure if she could manage it before the wedding began.

She was lost in thought, navigating by habit, when Stoick called her name.

“Astrid.”

“Oh!” She was so startled, she jumped back. Then she smiled. “Good afternoon, sir.”

“Ye alright?”

“Oh, yes, I’m fine. Just distracted. Lots to do.”

“Aye. Tell me about it.” Astrid stilled for a moment, then grinned. There were moments when Stoick sounded just like Hiccup… or maybe Hiccup sounded like his father. When she encountered that similarity, which happened every so often, it struck her hard, this feeling of familiarity and connection with someone she didn’t know as well through someone she knew very well….

And there went her face, her cheeks burning like the sunset.

“Do ye know where Hiccup is?”

“Hiccup?”

Stoick’s beard twitched, but she couldn’t make out whether or not he was smiling. Or smirking. “Aye. Hiccup.”

Astrid blinked at him, her mind spinning. She couldn’t lie to the chief, but she also couldn’t answer in a way that implied she - that they’d been…. Oh, this was ridiculous.

“I think he may have gone to the springs,” she said, pleased that her voice sounded steady and unconcerned. “We were sparring before the rain started, but I haven’t seen him since.”

A good lie is mostly true, she reminded herself. And she wasn’t lying, really. She didn’t know where he was at that moment, but if he needed to be found, she’d know where to look.

Stoick’s expression turned thoughtful, his eyes narrowing as he pulled on his beard with one hand. Her stomach clenched and she took a smooth breath in, counting slowly to four.

“Hm. Well, he’ll turn up. If you see him, tell him I’m looking for him. And that he can’t avoid me.”

Astrid gave a short, surprised bark of laughter. “Will do, sir.”

Stoick turned to walk up the long stairs to the great hall, leaving Astrid behind with a wave.

She wanted time alone. She wanted time with Hiccup, alone, really. But in the meantime there was too much to do.

The blast of heat and noise, and the smell of sugar and flour greeted her when she opened her door.

“Astrid! There ye are! Let’s get to work.”

 

…

 

Hiccup was, true enough, still at the springs. He didn’t have anything pressing awaiting him back in Berk, and found that the longer he sat by the water, the more conversations began, paused for a long while, and started again - conversations that he wanted to listen to or be part of. Snotlout had chased Tuffnut out of the cove demanding the pages that were rightfully his, but Fishlegs and Hoark stayed in the springs, the rolling twists of water surrounding them echoing the conversations that flowed, stopping and starting again with no discernible rhythm except that of relaxation and peace.

The springs hosted a rising and waning tide of muddy vikings for most of the afternoon. Men, dirty and sweaty from the downpour and the work they were doing, arrived, greeted by cheers and calls from across the water, and then quiet would fill the space around them as the heat and fluid movement of the hot spring soothed their aches, burns, and soreness. In some ways, they fought against the land constantly, racing against the sky and the incoming snow and rain, or trying to outwit the ocean and make it home to Berk with a hold full of fish and a full crew on board.

But in other ways, the land they lived on, that they farmed and explored and cared for, also took care of them. The springs were almost sacred, as important as the wedding and the feast, as the change of seasons and the marking of feast days and celebrations. Everyone came to the springs each week, sometimes more if needed. 

When Hiccup was younger, he felt out of place there, surrounded by large men whom he knew he’d never measure up to. When he lost his leg and his status in the village changed, he still felt awkward about being without his prosthetic in front of everyone. But as he grew taller - finally, he thought, with a wry smile - and learned how he fit into the new Berk he’d helped create, the springs became a kind of rest and solace.

But he also noticed that the older he got, the more he saw glances his way, gestures or grimaces that indicated whomever was speaking didn’t want to explain in front of the chief’s son. His role and status changed constantly, sometimes for the better, and sometimes in ways that made him feel awkward again.

That afternoon, though, everyone was happy. Vikings never needed much of a reason to celebrate or throw a party, but a wedding, the joining of two families in the tribe and the arrival of the bride’s extended family from the east, that made everyone almost jubilant, even though the event was days away. Instead of glances at Hiccup to see if he was listening, the men in and around the springs were teasing Hoark, and joking with Fishlegs, who was visibly more relaxed now that Snotlout and Tuffnut were gone.

They talked about dragons, food, the visiting tribe, where they’d be staying, plus more important matters like mead, and which type was the best, and who would drink the most of it.

Hiccup sat on his customary rock at the side of the springs, waiting for his leg to dry fully, and listening to everyone. His large, extended family of one sort or another were all joking in bubbling water on a peaceful afternoon of long shadows and much to look forward to - so he wasn’t in a hurry to leave.

“Well, then, Hiccup, I see you beat me here.”

“Hey, Gobber. I wasn’t expecting to see you until later. You - wait, what is that smell?”

“Oh, that’d be yak polish.”

Fishlegs moved closer to the edge to greet Gobber, then backed away into the water, moving his arms and legs to keep himself afloat and out of range of the smell. “Yak polish? What’s yak polish?”

“Well, you take some parts of the yak, see, and you boil them.”

“And so that’s the smell?”

“Oh, no, the smell is when the yak bladder explodes all over you. That was an accident.”

“Are you sure it was the yak’s… bladder?”

“Well, no,” Gobber said, pulling on his mustache as he sat down to remove his leg. “It was all in one big pot, so it might have been a leg or some other part.”

“I think I know what part,” Fishlegs said, swimming to the other side of the springs.

Hiccup, still without his leg and therefore without a method of escape, was taking slow and deliberate breaths through his sleeve. The sooner Gobber got into the water, the better for all of viking humanity and the neighboring islands, but Hiccup knew better than to offer help.

“The polish, though, it does a right perfect job of shining anything metal. Swords, shields, axes, whatever you like. But it’s a monstrous trouble to make, that’s for sure.”

“What were you, ah, polishing?”

“Haven’t yet. That’s our job. We polish Hoark’s sword, the ceremonial shield, your dad’s armor plates, and the armor you wear.”

Hiccup groaned quietly. “I’d forgotten about that part.”

“Now, don’t be letting your father hear you moaning and groaning. That’s traditional ceremonial garb. He wore it, and his father wore it, and-“

Hiccup nodded and sighed loudly. “I know, I know. I’ll wear it and someday my children will wear it, I know.” He ignored the spinning burst of quiet joy that took up residence in his chest at the mention of having children. “But, look, Gobber, it… well, it…to be honest with you….”

“It smells like fish guts left outside for a few years?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Well, it’s old. Most ancient stuff smells.”

“Hey!” Magnus, one of the oldest men in Berk, stood up and shook a bony arm at Gobber. His smile, adorned with three teeth, was met with Gobber’s own interrupted, rocky grin.

“Ah, hush yourself, old man. You’ll fall in and float away.”

“I’m young enough to take on the likes of you,” Magnus shouted, his voice roughened by suppressed laughter. Some of the men in the pool started placing bets on who would win. The odds were only slightly on Gobber’s side, mostly because of the smell.

“So, Gobber,” Hiccup said, trying to hurry him into the water. “Is the yak polish smell to disguise the, ah, deeply embedded scent of tribal history?"

“That’s one use for it. Shines them up and hides a little of the stink to be sure. But everyone will want their weapons sharpened and polished for the wedding.”

Hiccup sat up straight. “Sharpened? Why? Is there going to be trouble?”

“What? No, not at all. But, you know, everyone likes to look their best, and have their best weapon at their side during the ceremony. We’ll have to, ah, remove many of them from the great hall once people start celebrating, but that’s normal. No, no trouble. Just lots of polishing and sharpening.”

Hiccup nodded.

“So, be at the forge tonight, and tomorrow, too.”

“Tonight?”

“Aye. Most people will remember to stop by tomorrow, but I imagine a few will come by tonight. Axes, swords, some maces, maybe.”

Hiccup tried to breathe normally, to keep the cold spreading panic from showing on his face. “Maces,” he repeated, his voice thin.

“Aye. I hate sharpening them, too,” Gobber said, disrobing, then removing his prosthetic hand. “But, ah, well, has to be done.” He slid into the water with a shrug, then disappeared beneath the surface.

Astrid was going to come to the forge, and if everyone was coming to have weapons sharpened, there’d be no time, no way for them to….

Hiccup’s mind spun though every possibility, every option, what might happen, what he could do to plan for different results. But the final conclusion was the same: he might be able to see Astrid for a few minutes, but most likely he’d be too busy or too surrounded by half of the village to do much of anything else.

The part that twisted his stomach into a painful knot was not his own disappointment, which was substantial. It was knowing he’d have to explain to Astrid, and how awful that would feel.

Hiccup pulled his bag closer, reached in, and pulled out his drying cloth and his shirt. He frowned. He didn’t remember putting his shirt back into his bag.

He ran the drying cloth over his chest and arms, wiping away the mist from the springs that covered his skin. The last he’d seen his shirt, it had been in the cave, and not on him. Had Astrid put it in his bag? She must have. 

The folded roll of fabric was nearly dry, enough to wear while he made the long walk back to Berk. He wasn’t in a hurry to put it on, so he unrolled it.

There was a small silver disc hidden inside, so small he almost missed it and let it roll into the water. It was tiny, barely bigger than his thumbnail, but when the tilted it into the fading sunlight, he could make out two crossed axes and a leaf - symbols of the Hofferson family.

Hiccup draped his shirt over a nearby stone so the warmth from the sun and the hot springs below would dry it a bit more, and examined the disc closely. He hadn’t seen any metal embossed with a family crest or seal except for the Berk crest - but that was mostly found on leather, like his bag or on book covers, or on banners around the village. What was this from? And why did she give it to him? 

Gobber pulled himself out of the springs, splashing water everywhere, causing Hiccup to move his shirt out of the way and scramble back on the stone he was on to keep from getting wet. 

“No time for a long soak,” he said with a grunt. Hiccup took that as a hint that it was time to get moving, and packed up his cloth, carefully putting the metal disc into a small pocket inside his bag where it wouldn’t get lost or fall out.

He pulled on his shirt, and shook out his hair. He'd wait for Gobber, figuring he could find out more about the possible traffic to and from the forge while they walked. But Gobber took a while to strap on his prosthetics, and never once in his life, not when he’d started at the forge when he was very small, nor when Hiccup had lost the lower part of his own leg, had he ever seen Gobber accept help from anyone when it came to his arm and his leg. Gobber had never asked, and Hiccup had never volunteered, so he waited.

 

…

 

The good thing about walking with Gobber was that Hiccup didn’t need to say much. He was free to let his mind wander, which it did, much faster than they were walking. Not much needed to be done to encourage Gobber to talk, either. A few murmurs and questions and he kept going.

Hiccup was using the metal pole he’d built to help him keep weight off his leg a little, given that the stump was still red and irritated from his having overtightened the cuff twice in one day.

“Nice staff you built there. Gronkle iron?”

“Yeah, some. And some of the old swords from before, melted down and thinned.”

“Let me have a - ach, never mind. Sorry.”

Gobber’s ears turned red and he glanced at the ground.

“No, it’s fine. I’m good.”

Gobber looked down at Hiccup’s leg and at the staff he held, one end pointed toward him. “Ye sure? Not like you to use a staff or shift your weight.”

“Yeah, it’s all right.” Gobber may not have tolerated anyone commenting on his prosthetics, but he looked after Hiccup very closely. He was used to it. He didn't mind.

Gobber took the metal and examined it closely, but didn’t move from where he stood. “So why ye walking with it? Did you hurt yourself?”

“No, I had to tighten the cuff to keep from slipping.”

Gobber nodded briskly, his long mustache swinging. “Aye. Had that problem today. Especially when boiling the yak polish. Makes a right mess, it does.” He handed the staff back to Hiccup with nod of his chin. “What’s the button part do?”

They started walking, Hiccup demonstrating the staff’s internal compartments and their purposes as Gobber nodded, mustache twitching. He didn’t ask more questions, which was unusual for him, so Hiccup went back using the staff for a less glamorous and deadly purpose - helping him walk upright. “So, lots of people to the forge tonight, you think?”

“Aye,” Gobber said, slowing his pace and pulling up his trousers. Why the man didn’t make himself a new belt was beyond Hiccup’s knowing, but he had some ideas for a Snoggletog gift. “I expect the bulk of the preparations will be going on in the Great Hall, what with the food being baked in the large hearth there. Sigrid’s got that in hand, she does. Whole family’s been forced into helping her. Astrid, too, poor lass.”

Hiccup laughed.

“So once everyone’s in the hall, and Stoick starts talking about the ceremony, what everyone will be doing, folks will start thinking about what they need to clean and wear, and that’ll lead to remembering, oh, yeaaaaah.” Gobber did a fair impersonation of half the village men in one voice. “ _I clean forgot my sword, Gobber. You wouldn’t mind giving it a wee polish and sharp, would ye?”_

“And then one person with shiny weapon brings everyone else who wants the same?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, ah, I was going to, um, I was going to show Astrid how we make bread in the forge tonight so I guess I’ll have to -“

“Bread? You haven’t show her that yet? Ach, laddie, I expected better of ye.”

Hiccup had no idea what to say to that.

“Don’t you worry. You’ll have time.”

Maybe Gobber didn’t quite understand what exactly he meant. Or maybe he did, which was a possibility Hiccup didn’t want to ponder for too long.

“I..I will?”

“Aye. She can come by. Plenty to do. She can help sharpen. I’m sure she’d rather do that than take orders from Sigrid.”

“You’re probably right about that.”

The long path didn’t take as much time as Hiccup had expected, partially because Gobber filled the time with chatter and gossip, mostly about what ridiculous family weapons people were going to haul out of storage and demand to have repaired.

“Mark my words, laddie. Someone will bring us a mace embedded in a cross bow or some fool invention. And it won’t be Tuffnut, either.”

“Oh, Gods.”

As they made their way down into the village, Hiccup noticed Stoick standing in the courtyard by the great hall, talking to Sigrid.

Sigrid was holding a blue bowl in her hands. It was empty, judging from the tipped way she held it, and it was recently cleaned, with water droplets sparkling on the side. It looked familiar.

Then Stoick noticed Hiccup and Gobber walking toward them. “Son!”

Hiccup looked away from the bowl. “Hey, Dad.”

Sigrid nodded a greeting then went into the great hall behind them. Hiccup glanced into the dark room when she entered, but didn’t see any sign of Astrid, though he figured she’d have been helping her aunt.

“You’re safe.”

Hiccup turned abruptly and stared at his father. “Of course. Why-“

“I saw Toothless, and not you.”

“Oh, right. Yeah. Sorry about that. I-I, uh, I was-“

“He was at the springs. Most of us were,” Gobber said.

Stoick nodded. “Aye. Astrid said as much. But I was - that was some storm, a lot of lightning.”

“Ah, Stoick, you old mother hen.” Gobber was the only person Hiccup knew who could call Stoick names and get away with it. And judging by Stoick’s glare and the shift of his beard, Stoick barely tolerated it. “Hiccup was fine.”

“Yeah, but, still. Sorry, dad.” Those words were familiar. He’d said them hundreds of times, and it never got easier.

Stoick dropped a hand on Hiccup’s shoulder, giving him just enough time to brace his leg and prepare for it. His father’s arms were like hammers. “No need to apologize.”

He had to change the subject. “The, uh, the springs are pretty crowded. So, um, if you’re thinking of going….”

Hiccup didn’t miss the momentary glance between Stoick and Gobber, but couldn’t interpret it, or ask what it meant. “Aye. Thanks. Where ye off to?”

Gobber gestured with his metal arm down the hill. “The forge. Where else? Everyone will be sharpening and shining up to get ready.”

“Aye. Guests will start arriving tomorrow, if the trader’s reports are accurate. Lots of ships heading this way.”

Hiccup looked up. “Do you need extra patrols?”

Stoick shook his head. “Most of them should know we ride dragons, but there’s no need to startle people or invite trouble when it’s not warranted. Regular coastal patrols should suffice, but an extra route mid-day would be good.”

Hiccup nodded. “I’ll draw up a new schedule.”

“Already did. Hang on.” Stoick reached into the slanted chest pocket of his tunic, dug around for a moment, then pulled out a folded paper.

He blinked at his father, then took the listand glanced at it. His father didn’t usually bother with aerial defense patrols. That was his job. “You’ve got the twins with Fishlegs in the morning, that makes sense. But Snotlout mid-day on his own?”

“Aye. Get him out of our hair and give hima chance to show off and burn energy. Give that flaming dragon of his a reason to nap when people are about.”

Gobber didn’t bother hiding his laugh, and neither did Hiccup. “He doesn’t usually need a reason, but yeah, g- good thinking.”

“Make changes if you want. Just let me know. I’m off for the hall. Great Odin, there’s a lot to do.”

Hiccup ran his finger down the list of patrol teams and suggested times for the next day, the day after, and the day of the wedding. He was usually scheduled in the morning, Astrid in the afternoon, and the other primary riders filling in the spaces around them.

Except the day of the wedding. The evening patrol, with the celebration just beginning as the sun moved toward the horizon, Stoick had scheduled Hiccup and Astrid for a full island inspection.

Hiccup stared at the paper, then looked at his father’s retreating figure. Stoick didn’t glance back over his shoulder. If he had, Hiccup wasn’t sure what he’d have said or done. He was too shocked.

 

…

 

Gobber had been entirely right about the traffic to the forge that evening. Shortly after they arrived, fed the forge hearth with as much fuel as they could and built the flames to frightening levels, a steady stream of vikings came to the window, each wielding old, outdated, and often strange looking weapons. They chatted a bit, boasted of the legendary history of each item they brought, then left their vaunted family armaments with Gobber and Hiccup.

Most of the boasting began with the killing of dragons, but quickly changed when the speaker realized to whom he was bragging. Hiccup didn’t mind…much. Reminders of how much had changed and how much better things were now that there was peace between the vikings and the dragons were never a problem. But scraping long-dried blood off weapons and burning the blackened tarnish off old crossbows and maces made him uneasy.

“Better they all get a polish, eh?” Gobber had pinned the braids of his mustache onto the horns of his helmet. The blaze in the center of the forge was high enough that any dangling whiskers would get singed. It made him look like a drunken clothesline, and every time Hiccup looked at him, he had to bite his lips to keep from laughing. 

“You think?”

“Everyone can start fresh.”

Hiccup glanced at Gobber, who was speaking slowly, savoring his words as he spoke them. Hiccup needed to keep his attention on the metal in the fire, waiting for it to become hot enough to hammer but not so hot that it warped. It had taken years for him to tell the difference on sight, and he didn’t like to look away.

“You know how weddings are, aye?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Ah, young people. You have no idea how time moves on.” Gobber was getting nostalgic. Soon it would be long, convoluted stories about the tribal history of Berk, stories he’d heard before.

Ordinarily he wouldn’t mind, but every time someone approached the forge, he listened for Astrid’s footsteps. He wanted the anticipation to end, and he wanted her to be there, but he didn’t know what he’d say when she arrived. _Sorry, we’re sharpening every weapon in Berk tonight, so…yeah._

The fire hosted at least five or six swords, two axes, and a handful of arrows - it was easier to shine and polish an arrow than to shine and polish an entire cross bow. With a few minutes of scrubbing with rough stone, heat and polish, the shaft and arrow head would gleam in a way that made the rest of the weapon look better.

Swords took more time and effort, but axes required the most attention. Fortunately, not many families had an axe as their best or most honored weapon. Stoick did, but his had already been polished and sharpened. The two in the forge fire were older weapons, predating Stoick’s birth and Gobber’s, too, if Gobber’s memory was to be trusted. Their sides were carved deeply with runes and symbols, and the edges were chipped and nearly useless.

“I don’t know how we’re going to sharpen them,” Hiccup said as Gobber pulled one from beneath the burning hardwood.

“We’re not. Just shine the sides - that’s what the yak polish is for. Makes it look bigger and worth boasting about, but it wouldn’t cut a toothpick if ye tried.”

“Well, with two of three tribes of drunk vikings, sharp weapons are not the greatest addition.”

“Aye, true enough. But like I said, we’ll be gathering them up and taking them out after the celebrating begins. Store everything here.”

Hiccup looked up, confused. “So all this work, they hold the weapons for an hour or two, then we hide them?”

“Aye. As you said, drunk happy vikings don’t need anything extra - beyond their hard skulls, that is.”

Hiccup added more wood to the fire as Gobber moved the first batch of arrows to the side table so Hiccup could polish each one. First the soot was scraped off the shaft of each arrow, then, using tongs, he held each one vertically and ran roughened coarse leather coated with polish from one end to the other. Each arrowhead received similar treatment, and within a few minutes a line of arrows leaned against the back wall, cooling until they could be handled, the metal reflecting the firelight in thin, glimmering lines.

“Good lad. Got that done faster than I could have. Beard of Thor, it’s bloody hot in here.” Gobber stepped back from the raised hearth, pulled off his tunic, leaving on his undershirt, which was stained with sweat and already covered with a thin layer of soot.

Hiccup pulled at the neck of his own shirt, trying to keep the damp fabric off his skin. He shook his head. Instead of being cold and wet like he had been that morning, now he was overheated, but again his shirt was just as slick.

“Ah, just take it off, laddie. No one here but us.”

“Right- but, uh- but….”

“Oh, right, Astrid. She’ll likely be here soon enough, if Sigrid lets her go, but no need to be sweaty and uncomfortable.” Gobber waved his hook at Hiccup, which he took to mean, “Go on already and stop being miserable.”

Hiccup began to suspect that Gobber had hit his head and wasn't himself, but he wasn't going to argue. It was awful and hot in the forge. Tossing his shirt over the edge of a table so it would dry through the residual heat from the fire, Hiccup tied on an apron to protect his skin and went back to work. Time passed in a hazy blur, the heat so intense it looked like the air had turned to water, visible waves of heat moving across the forge, streaming out of the windows, reaching for the cooler air outside.

Polishing and sharpening was loud, exhausting and sweaty work, and dirty besides. If Astrid did show, and it looked like she wouldn’t given the late hour, he wouldn’t be able to make anything, except a mess. He certainly couldn’t handle dough with his arms and hands covered with soot. He’d smear whatever he touched.

He pulled a cloth from one of the cabinets and used it to wipe his face and hands, then ran it over his chest and belly beneath the apron before pulling another sword from the fire and bringing it over to the sharpening stone.

“Last one, thank Odin.” Gobber grunted as he pulled the largest axe blade from the hearth. “This should be easy enough. Can’t sharpen it. The edge is so chipped it might come clean off. Ol’ Sven would be mighty peeved if I took his axe and gave him a hammer in return. _Ooooh, wot’s this then, Gobber? Where’s me axe, ye numpty? Thinking you can pull one over on me, do ye?_ ”

Hiccup laughed at Gobber’s precise imitation of Sven. “Would be a good looking hammer, though. The carving on that axe is impressive.”

“Aye. Lost art, that is.” Gobber ran a polishing clothing gently over the metal carvings that made up the center of the double-headed axe - or what was left of it. “This has to be about a hundred years old, maybe more.”

Hiccup set to work, polishing and scraping the grime and tarnish off the sword in front of him, listening to Gobber talk about the craftsmen who could make carvings like those, who they were, what had happened to them.

“I used to be able to do this type of work.” Gobber’s voice had turned soft, as if he were talking to himself. Hiccup glanced up at him, and froze at the sad, wistful expression on Gobber’s face. “Long ago, before….”

With a gesture and glance at his hook, Gobber set the axe down and reached for his tunic. “All right, then. Time for me to go.”

Hiccup stood up too quickly from bending over the table in front of him and nearly fell over. “Go?”

“Aye, ye didn’t hear me? I can’t be waiting around all night for people to remember their weapons and come get them, and I can’t leave them out to cool all night, what with the twins being…the twins. So, delivery service. Night air and a ride in the cart will cool them off enough to handle. Give me a hand, there’s a lad.”

Confused and unsure of what was going on, Hiccup helped Gobber load most of the polished weaponry into the cart, separating each layer of shining metal with blankets and old cloths. He hadn’t heard Gobber say anything about delivering the weapons. Most of the vikings were in the Great Hall, judging by the silence of the courtyard next to the forge. Gobber wasn’t wrong about people remembering at odd hours and expecting someone to be present to retrieve a weapon. But he couldn’t recall anything being said about returning the weapons personally.

After one final trip back into the forge to retrieve the arrows, Hiccup untied his apron, set it aside, and reached for his shirt, figuring he’d be wandering all over Berk with Gobber for a few hours at least.

Gobber stopped him. “Oh, no. You stay put, here. In case, um, in case any additional weapons arrive, ye hear?”

Hiccup shook his head as Gobber turned and with a maximum amount of noise made his way across the upper plaza to bring several dozen weapons to their owners.

With a shrug and some low muttering, he grabbed a small bucket and filled it with clean water from the barrel by the fireside, then took a cloth from the folded pile by the wash barrel. He moved through the storage room to the small door that opened to the very narrow strip of land beside the cliff and kicked it open enough that he could squeeze through. When he was younger, he’d escape out that door at a full run before Gobber could catch him. Now he had to duck his head to make sure he didn’t knock himself out.

The cool touch of the night air was welcome after the scorching heat of the forge, and the sweat on his skin dried in moments, leaving him itchy and uncomfortable. Upending the bucket over his head, he gave himself an impromptu shower. He tossed the bucket aside and ran the cloth over his chest and arms, wiping away the grime and sweat as best he could. The water ran down his body, over his chest and stomach and below the loose waistband of his leggings, soaking the wool. They’d be dry a few minutes after he started working again.

His hands and forearms were still dark with soot, so he went inside to fetch another bucket of water to wash them.

He wasn’t looking where he was going, and didn’t notice until he had lowered the bucket into the barrel and brought it back up that someone was standing on the other side of the fire. They were obscured by shadows, and the light of the fire was so overpowering, the shadows of the forge tables and equipment were longer and darker, offering more places to hide.

The curving gleam of an axe blade caught his attention, and he jumped. Then he saw who wielded the axe. 

“Astrid.”


	28. Resistance and Compliance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay for this chapter, and thank you for all the kudos and comments!

Feelings of incandescent joy, slight embarrassment, and then alarm collided in a tangle in his chest when Hiccup saw her. He stood, dripping and still dirtier than he’d like to be, especially in front of Astrid, not sure what to do. The bucket and cloth were still in his hands, but he didn’t want to put them down to embrace her or even move around the table towards her. He felt disgusting,

But more importantly, she looked miserable. Angry, uncomfortable, and…humiliated? Her face was stained dark red, her cheeks dark, her eyebrows down. Her scowl was so deeply twisted, he thought the next words out of her mouth would be, “You won’t believe what Tuffnut just did.”

She had her axe in her hand, and she shifted in and out of the shadows, agitated and uneasy. She tossed the handle from one hand to the other, the way she did when she was about to throw her axe across a field, and he wondered for a moment whether he should drop the bucket and run.

“Sigrid sent me,” she muttered.

“Sorry?”

“I’m not. I mean, I’m not sorry I’m here but… she said I had to have the family axe sharpened.”

Hiccup, used to the eruptions of her temper, the way her feelings would coalesce into a storm and then dissipate, quietly put the wood bucket on the table next to him, draped the cloth over the edge, and leaned back against the table. He kept his hands and arms away from his body. He still needed to wash the soot from his skin, but he wasn’t itchy, at least.

He watched, eyes narrowing, cataloging the jagged gestures that betrayed how upset she was: the flex of her arm as she tossed the axe handle in front of her body, the deepening of her frown, the rapid blinking that might have been pushing back tears. Something had really upset her.

When she didn’t speak for a moment, then another, Hiccup asked quietly, “What happened?”

Maybe the question caused her to recall what had upset her, or maybe she was angry at having her thoughts interrupted, but for a moment, her arm bent, muscles coiled, and her posture shifted as if she meant to pivot away from him and bury her axe in the back wall.

“If you need to throw, go ahead. No one’s here but me.”

The words had barely left his lips when her axe sliced into the wall that cordoned off his workroom with such velocity that the forge itself shuddered. The axe hung, vibrating like it had taken away some of her brittle rage, while Astrid stood, a shocked expression on her face, her breathing ragged.

“Sigrid said I had to have the family axe sharpened.”

He nodded. He’d gotten that part, but not why it had torn into her, leaving her so unhappy.

“Then she changed her mind and told me to go get my axe. So I went home, and my mother was there.”

Hiccup pressed his lips together to keep from speaking, giving her space to explain what was clearly taking up too much space inside her head, though he desperately wanted to ask questions.

“She started arguing with me, saying no, the family axe had to be the one they carried and what was I thinking, taking my own. Then Sigrid saw me with the family axe and yelled at me that I’d grabbed the wrong one. Like I wouldn’t know my own axe!”

Astrid buried her fingers in her hair, collapsing in on herself a little, pulling strands from her braid and knocking her kransen out of place on her head. Hiccup straightened from leaning against the table, readyto cross the room, but abruptly, she stood tall, smoothed her hair, set her kransen in position, and tried to take a deep breath, but could only gasp. She tried again, but it was broken into brittle pieces.

“Then my mother came into the Great Hall, yelling at Sigrid, and Sigrid starts yelling back - and this is in front of more than half the village, of course.”

Hiccup knew that sting of embarrassment all too well. He wanted to move toward her, to try to help, but he couldn’t touch her, and he wasn’t sure what else to do. He leaned back against the table, hands propped on the edge, as she continued.

“Then Gothi got into it, jabbing them both with her staff and scribbling in the dirt, but there wasn’t enough light to read, so they fought about that, too.”

“What did you do?” His voice was soft. He was unsure if he should even speak, if maybe now he should cross the room, or if he should leave. He knew a little of how she felt. But she looked so miserable, and she wouldn’t look at him. She was still facing the wall, looking at her axe. It hung at a vicious angle, the handle pointed toward her as if asking her to reach in, pull it out of the wood and try again.

“I left the family axe behind Gothi, got mine instead, and came over here.”

She didn’t seem to find any comfort or reassurance in telling him how she felt. Her breathing was still jagged and sharp, her movements brittle with anger, far from her normal fluid strength.

“You’d think I’d be ecstatic that everyone’s telling me to get an axe and go to the forge. I knew you were here. I wanted to be here already.”

“But?”

“It’s awful!”

Hiccup jerked away from the table again. He didn’t think he smelled that badly - but then he realized she hadn’t meant him at all.

“Everyone’s smiling and people are actually nudging me with their elbows! What is that?! And everyone, especially my mother, her friends, anyone who has ever known me, EVERYONE has an opinion about my appearance all of a sudden.”

She looked the same to him. Deadly and beautiful. And, at that moment, incredibly sad.

“People keep asking me what I'm going to wear, then telling me what I should choose instead. I’m not getting married! What is their problem?”

Hiccup pressed his lips together to keep his face impassive. “You want to sharpen your axe, or can I do it?”

She looked at him, shock on her face, like she’d forgotten he was there while she’d been ranting. Then her face changed, from angry to stricken.

“Oh, Hiccup. I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t want to be here with you -“

“It’s ok. I understand,” he said, pushing away from the table and finally allowing himself to move toward her.

He didn’t expect her to turn and run straight at him.

But she did, straight into his arms, hiding her face against his neck, her arms wrapping around his body and holding on.

For a moment, he was deeply, painfully glad that she couldn’t see his face, because he wasn’t sure he could hide the delight, the joy that spread through him, inside and out. It wasn’t the first time she’d turned to him, come and found him when she was upset, or sad, or angry. He was never happy when she was not. But the miracle of her looking for him, of her reaching for him when she was unhappy, of holding her because she wanted to be near him, it affected him every time.

He wound his arms around her carefully, pressing her close, but kept his hands away from her clothing.

“I can’t touch you - I’m sorry. My hands are filthy.”

She laughed, a short uneven sound that he felt against his skin. The brief chill that followed made him wonder if she’d been crying. “I noticed. What have you been doing?”

“Well, uh….” He shrugged, and she looked up. “Sharpening and polishing every weapon in Berk, I think.”

Astrid shook her head, and rested her forehead against his chest. He pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head, watching the firelight glint off the tiny metal studs in her kransen.

Astrid's voice was muffled. “Weddings. People go mad.”

“Yup. Every time. This is one of the biggest I can remember, though. I think the number of people on the island is going to double for the week.”

“And everyone has to show off,” she muttered.

He didn’t reply, but looked over at her axe, still embedded in the wall. He wondered if the blade had pierced straight through the wood to the other side. What had he hung on that wall? Was it now split in half?

“Would you sharpen it? My axe?”

Astrid was looking at him, her expression unreadable.

“Of course.” He stepped back, and she looked at his forearms and his hands.

“Wow. Yeah, better if you don’t touch anything - especially me.”

Hiccup snorted, and went to pull the blade out of the wall.

“Just what I need my mother to notice. A giant pair of handprints on my - Hiccup, don’t even think about it.”

He’d turned around at her words, his posture predatory, hands out like he was about to grab her, but he couldn’t keep a straight face, and started laughing. As he’d hoped, it was contagious. Her laughter drowned his as he chased her around the table, past the axe and then back towards it.

“Not happening, Hiccup.”

“You sure?”

She jumped over the bench Gobber sat on to change his leg attachment, tore her axe out of the wall, and held it across her body, arms out, tilting the handle toward him. “Take this, and get to work.”

“You sure you don’t want to sharpen it yourself?”

Her smirk, the gleam in her eyes, caused joy and arousal in equal measure. “You’re already dirty. I’ll watch.”

He shook his head, took the axe in one hand, then reached past her to grab the leather apron he’d abandoned hours before. He’d just pulled the neck opening over his head when she stopped his movements.

“I’ll get that.” Her voice was soft as she pulled the ties out of his hands and slid behind him. She held the apron taut against him, but instead of tying the strings, she rested her head on his shoulder.

She wouldn’t let him turn around, though. “Astrid-“

“I’m sorry I was grumpy when I came in.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“It’s ok. I really do get it.”

She took a breath, then another, before she answered. “I know you do.”

She was standing close behind him. He couldn’t see her, but he could feel her against his skin, almost leaning into him. What was she doing?

He looked over his shoulder. She had rested her forehead against his back, her hands holding the apron ties against his spine. Her body was bent toward his, and he caught the smooth shift of her body as she breathed, as if some of the anger and fury she’d carried in with her had melted in the heat of the room. 

Of course, feeling her body so close to his, the rough texture of her skirt brushing against the back of his leggings, the merest brush of her hands against his skin… he hoped she didn’t tie the apron too tight.

She shifted, leaning away, and he opened his mouth to speak. The words died in his throat.

She’d opened her mouth, and left a sliding, molten kiss against his back, as if she were tasting his skin. Then he felt her teeth, the tip of her tongue, right below his neck.

She moved, maybe shifting the ties to one hand,because then he felt her fingertips follow the curve of his back, stroking down his spine, her tongue a tiny, incendiary torment as she continued to taste his skin.

“What were you doing with the bucket of water?”

“R-rinsing. Rinsing off.” Now he was the one who couldn’t breathe. Or speak. Her touch moved along the waistband of his leggings, loose and damp around his hips. She slid her hand below the fabric, tracing his hip and the curve of his waist.

He felt her breath as she laughed, and thought it might push him clear to the floor. He’d have to throw her axe out of the way if he fell. If he could let go of it - he was clutching it so tight his knuckles were white. Hiccup was pretty sure it was the only thing keeping him upright, his grip on the axe handle.

“Ah. Sorry I missed that.”

He laughed. “No, trust me, you’re not. The polish Gobber made is horrific. I still have to scrub the rest off, and clean the handle of your axe now that I’ve touched it.”

She made a noncommittal noise, a murmur of sound he felt move into his skin like a brand. “I haven’t seen you without a shirt in the forge in a long time.”

“It’s not the safest way to work, but…”

“That fire is huge.” Her hand left his skin, and he felt the taut, efficient movements as she tied the apron behind his back.

He tried to turn, but she stopped him again, her hands on his waist, following the edge of his leggings. They were still wet enough to cling to his skin, and were being held up as much by the damp adhesion as by -

She slid the edge of her teeth against his shoulder. Then he flinched, gasping. She’d bitten him. Not hard enough to pierce the skin, but enough that the shock went through him like fire. 

“Get to work, Hiccup.”

He sighed dramatically, carefully stepping away from her. Using the sharpening stone was going to be awkward. “Yes, ma’am.”

Astrid hopped up on to one of the far tables like she always did when she visited him in the forge, and pulled a bag he hadn’t noticed from the floor to sit beside her.

He focused on the axe in his hand, noting with some relief that the polish and soot hadn’t rubbed off too much on to the handle. The blade was in very good condition - not a surprise since the weapon was Astrid’s, and she took as good care of her arsenal as she did of her dragon.

Hiccup moved closer to the monstrous fire so he could see the blade better. The carving caught his eye. He’d seen her axe a thousand times before, but now - it was identical in style to the carving Gobber had been talking about.

“Gobber told me about this,” he muttered, glancing at Astrid.

“The metal work? Yeah. Finn did that.”

“Finn?”

“Yeah. He and Gobber both learned how.” Hiccup nodded slowly, his eyebrows lowering as he followed the curving swirls of metal, the edges neat and defined. Finn had died years before, and Gobber… well, he couldn’t do work that intricate with one hand. Maybe that was partly why Gobber kept creating new attachments for his hand, to try to regain the dexterity needed to recreate that style of metalwork.

Maybe Gobber could teach him. Hiccup looked closely at the carving, trying to decipher which tools they’d used, which ones had created the thin, delicate lines, then filled the empty space with dark metal that never faded, keeping the contrast between the silver carving and the background.

Astrid was pulling a length of cloth out of her bag, the colors catching Hiccup’s attention.

“What’s that?”

“Finn’s banner,” she said around the needle she held between her lips. “Have to fix it.”

Hiccup crossed the room, his hands behind his back so he wouldn’t be tempted to touch the fabric. “I haven’t seen that one in awhile.”

Astrid pulled the needle from her lips and threaded it. “I want it to be outside our home for the wedding. It’s been torn for years but I finally figured out how to fix it.”

“Need anything?”

“No, thanks.” She grinned at him. “Some guy made me some needles.”

“Still sharp?”

“Absolutely.” She bent her head over the fabric, and he picked up the axe and brought it over to the sharpening stone.

 

…

 

Astrid was trying to focus on the banner in her lap, on mending the tear so that it blended with the colorful fabric that made up the image of Fearless Finn. She couldn’t keep herself from glancing up, and after the second time she pierced her fingertip with the needle, which was indeed very sharp, she gave up and watched him.

The light of the fire played over the muscles of his arms and back as he spun the stone and pressed the edge of her axe to sharpen it. Sparks flew, the additional bits of light erasing the shadows that sharpened his features. His focus, all the attention evident in his expression, it was still intoxicating to watch.

She pulled herself back and looked at the banner in her hands. She had to get this done; it was important in a way she couldn’t articulate that she finish this task she’d taken on. She rolled the edge of the cloth beneath her fingertip, slid the needle into the curve of fabric, and bound it to the background of the banner, covering the tear. She made one stitch, then another, then a third, and only then did she allow herself to look up again.

She wasn’t making much progress, since looking up meant she’d watch Hiccup for much longer than she intended. The solitude, the darkness of the corners of the forge and the blasting light from the fire, the low roar as the blaze feasted on the wood Hiccup added, all of it smoothed away the sharp edges of her temper. She’d arrived feeling brittle, like the thin sheets of rock she could snap with her fingers.

Now, the sounds, the heat, the lingering hint of the taste of Hiccup’s skin on her lips replaced the shards of her temper, melting them down into a fluid smoothness she savored. The pressure she carried with her into the forge, fury built of annoyance and embarrassment, was banished by the pulsing heat of the fire.

Being with him made it more bearable, all that nonsense, the eager eyes and unwelcome suggestions. And the fighting. She hated the fighting.

The fire broke a log deep within the raised hearth, and she felt the sound move through her body, coiling deep in her belly, liquid with heat. The quiet, determined crackle and hiss of a fire might be her new favorite sound, she thought with a smile. Second to rainstorms and waterfalls.

She watched as he turned the axe, his lips moving slightly as he muttered to himself, then shifted his position to press the lower corner to the stone, honing it to a deadly, shiny gleam.

This space and time was hers, she realized. Maybe people had pushed her toward the forge, but she had wanted to be here.

“So what made you so angry?”

She jerked back, surprised that he’d spoken.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want.” He misread her reaction, and she smiled at him, touched that he’d ask her. What she’d said earlier in the fury of her temper had probably hurt him. She hadn’t meant to, but she might have.

She probably did.

She had to fix it.

“I’m not sure. I was annoyed at everyone, but….” She slid the needle into a corner of the banner so she wouldn’t lose it, then reached up and tugged at the end of her braid.

“What set me off, really, was when my mother told me I had to put my axe away, that it ‘wouldn’t do,’ that the older one was better.”

He nodded, running a cloth over the sides of the axe, leaving a smooth shine that glowed in the firelight.

“I disagreed with her, and Sigrid backed me up, but….” She sighed, dropping her hand to her lap. “They were arguing about my axe, except that wasn’t really what they were arguing about. My mother wanted me to stay and keep cooking with Sigrid, learn all the foods she was preparing. Sigrid told her I knew plenty and should go handle the weapons, that it was my strength anyway. My mother kept at it, saying that I needed to learn what I didn’t know.”

She looked over at Hiccup, who was listening, his hands still, his focus entirely on her. His attention fed the liquid fire inside her, causing it to swell and grow until it filled her body.

“Hearing them talking about me, knowing they weren’t really being honest, that they weren’t saying what they meant…it was awful.”

Then she thought again of what she’d said when she came in, how angry she’d been. Anguish slid through her, cold and dark, that she might have hurt him thoughtlesly again just now. He didn’t have any relatives to argue over him at all. Just Stoick, and they argued with each other most of the time.

But he didn’t look hurt. He started polishing the carving on the handle with a clean cloth, glancing up at her and waiting for her to continue. “So you left?”

She nodded. “Once Gothi started trying to scratch in the dust on the floor, and my mother walked over what she was writing, I had to leave. I think Gothi might have been ready to curse her, and I didn’t want to see that. So I grabbed my axe and came here.”

She’d been following his movements as she spoke, her eyes tracing each gesture, the process of seeing and understanding what he was doing almost separate from what she was saying, two completely different currents of activity. When his hands stilled over her axe, and he bent closer to inspect the joint between the axe head and the handle, she felt like the world shifted underneath her.

It was such a minor thing. He looked closer, his eyebrows low over his eyes, frowning as he adjusted the fit, his hands carefully moving over the steel the same way they moved over her.

Awareness and arousal flooded her, and immediately afterward, there was such peace, warm and welcoming, surrounding every part of her body, every thought. She never worried about what they were, what they were together. They just …were.

She looked for him at every important moment. She rarely went a day without talking to him. Sometimes they spent hours together, and the sharp edge of temptation never entered her sphere of attention.

Not lately, and certainly not now, but not always. It wasn’t just fire and that desire to touch and taste every inch of him. Sometimes it was wanting, but sometimes it was a burst of joy, an explosion of humor and laughter and she looked for him to share it.

Everything was so familiar, and yet new and delicate. Anger bubbled in her chest. Her mother had said weddings made people crazy, but Astrid hadn’t realized her mother included herself in that assessment. Everything was different. She felt watched and judged, and it felt awful, and she was terrified that the pressure and elbowing of the people around her would crush this fragile, priceless space that existed between them, that she could seldom find and savor.

She wanted to take her axe and defend the forge against everyone who was pushing her. Even if they were pushing her toward things she wanted - deeply, fiercely wanted -she wanted to make the decision on her own.

She settled for talking to Hiccup. “I think Sigrid will convince my mom that my axe is a better weapon to represent the family than the old one. It’s in better shape.” Her chin rose. “I take better care of it.”

“That you do.” HIs voice was soft, his focus on the carving that covered the axe, cleaning the polish from the ripples and twists of metal.

“Like they get to decide.”

“What?”

Astrid pressed her lips together. She hadn’t meant to speak her thoughts aloud, but as usual, everything was easy to share with him.

“They don’t… they don’t get to decide what I do with my axe, what represents me, or what represents my family. You know?”

Hiccup nodded, then his eyes widened. “Oh! That reminds me.”

He picked up a small cloth and went into his workroom. She watched him, followed him with her eyes as much as her ears concentrated on the sounds of his footsteps, the alternating rhythm of leather and metal striking the floor .

When he came out, he was holding something in his palm, nestled the center of the cloth. “What is this?”

She smiled, but when she glanced down, her face began to burn.

“Oh. Um. That’s, uh, that’s Finn’s coin. He made it, part of learning to carve metal. It’s two -“

“Axes, yeah. And a leaf. Parts of your family crest.”

Astrid shrugged, but didn’t take the coin from his palm. “Hoffersons. Stubborn as axes, twice as deadly.”

He laughed. “Why did you leave this with me?”

She shrugged one shoulder, about to give a flippant answer, then stopped.

She wanted to be here. But she wanted to do more than just be in the room with him, alone in the heat and shadows of the forge. Everyone else was in the Great Hall, and she’d seen Gobber and his wheelbarrow of weaponry. He’d stop for a drink and make plenty of noise, mostly likely, when he came back. If he came back.

This moment, this time, it was hers.

She leaned in, caught his gaze in her own, smiled slowly, and said, “I’ll show you.”

“Show me?”

“Yes. Go into your workroom. In the corner opposite your desk.” Her voice matched his commanding tone when they’d last been here. She watched his breathing change as he listened, as he heard what she was saying inside how she was saying it, and what she meant.

She hopped off the table. “Go on. Shut the door behind you.”

He shook his head, turned, and the glanced over his shoulder. His eyes moved over the forge fire, making sure nothing was in imminent danger of being set ablaze, then he looked at the door.

“I’ve got that. Go. Now.”

She made quick business of moving some tools to the edge of the table, leaning arrows across the doorway where they’d make noise if they fell, and then shutting the door to the forge most of the way so that anyone who opened it would send arrows and steel scattering across the stone floor.

Then, with a deep breath and a hot tide of anticipation pushing her across the room, she went into Hiccup’s workroom and shut the door.

He was standing where she’d told him to go, in the corner where he’d pushed her against the wall when lightning had struck the ground outside the forge. He was leaning one shoulder against the wall, his hands on his hips, over his apron. She looked down for a moment as she approached, a slow, eagerness spreading through her.

“Your hands. They really are incredibly dirty.”

He looked down with a grimace. “Yeah. If you -“

“No. It's fine.” She placed her hands on his elbows and moved his arms. “You can put your arms here, against the wall behind you. Like in cave the by the falls.” 

She heard his breath catch in his throat. She lifted his arms above his head, reveling in the power that his permission gave her. She placed his hands on the shelf over his head.

“Or, you can hang on here.”

It wasn’t her imagination. He’d definitely paled, his eyes blinking rapidly. His elbows were slightly bent alongside his head, hands wrapped around the edge of the shelf above him.

Astrid moved closer. The workroom was dark, the forge fire lighting the spaces between the boards that made up the wall behind him, casting thin lines of gold across the small room. She could see the curves of his arm muscles, flexed and taut in the position he held, and she moved her fingers across each shadowed arc, first gently, then with more pressure.

Moving closer still, Astrid reached around his body and untied his apron. She lifted it over his head, then tossed it onto his desk. She didn’t hear it fall, but didn’t look to see where it landed.

 _Hers._ This moment was hers. She looked at his chest, plotting a tactical route across his body, identifying places she wanted to explore, cataloging areas she knew would drive him out of his mind.

He shifted in place, and lifted his hand from the shelf above to push against the wall, adjusting how he stood. She took a half step back, just out of reach.

“Hands above you, please. Back on the shelf.”

He froze. “Astrid -“

“You can’t touch me.”

He groaned quietly, a low sound of frustration and hunger. "I know. Can I just go-"

“No. Back on the shelf, or on the wall. Your choice.”

Meeting her eyes, his gaze challenged hers, his intensifying attention pushing against her in a way that caused sparks and ripples of delight to cover her skin. She shivered, but didn’t look away. His eyebrows were low across his eyes, and his mouth was fixed in a straight, tense line. She knew that expression, and having it all to herself was exhilarating.

She wanted him to be enthralled, feeling the same wonder and want that she did.

When he tightened his grip on the shelf above his head, she slid toward him again, her movements slow, keeping her eyes on his, a half smile on her face. “See? Told you. Much better this way.”

He snorted, and tried to look away, but she caught his face in one hand and kissed him.

She poured her longing, her frustration, her shame at having hurt him, and her eagerness to explore him into the slide of her lips, the stroke of her tongue. He met each kiss with equal pressure, challenged each movement with his own, and she found herself hanging on to him, one hand pressed tight along the curve of his chest, the other curled around his neck, pulling him closer.

Her back felt cold. It was strange to kiss him, to set them both on fire without his touch surrounding her. She’d set the rules, pinned him to the wall with them, and while she felt an endless thrill at what she could do, what she wanted to do, she missed the surprise and encouragement of his touch.

No matter. She had a tactical strategy to follow, tests and evaluations to conduct, to see what she could do, how he would react.

The landscape of his chest beneath her hands was firmness and ridges, valleys of taut muscle covered with freckles she wanted to taste. She began by moving her fingertips, then her nails over his chest, scraping over his nipples when he gasped into her mouth. She did it again, then pinched lightly, reveling in the rigidity of his body as he tried to hold still, the flex of surrender when he couldn’t any longer.

She found a trail of hair on his stomach, and explored for what seemed like ages. She tried not to tickle him as she traced it. She wanted to follow that line and connect his freckles with her tongue, her teeth.

So she did. Pulling away slowly from the wet slide of his mouth, the incendiary rhythm of his kiss, she pressed her mouth, then slid the edge of her teeth along his jaw, nuzzling the stubble on his cheek and chin.

She tasted his neck, nibbling the taut ridge that emerged when his body tightened beneath her touch, then moved to his chest. Her hands were everywhere, exploring, stroking and learning the texture of his body, the way arousal and his efforts to hold still changed the shape of his muscles between breaths.

Her hands reached the damp waistband of his leggings and he froze, his chest arching against hers. He gasped, then shuddered, shifting to regain his balance. In moving into then away from her touch, he’d pressed his erection against her and knocked himself off balance. He seemed unsure of what to do next.

She smiled against his neck, then drew a bit of his skin between her lips and bit gently. “I have to get you out of wet clothes again?”

His answering laugh was broken into pieces by his erratic breathing.

“I like this habit,” she continued, pulling the fabric away from his skin and sliding her hands over his sides to cover his hips.

“Astrid….”

“What?” Her breath on his nipple made him flinch again.

“Stop - wait.”

She stilled, looking at him, and moved away.

“Wait, I just, hang on.” He reached down to rotate the cuff on his prosthetic, dropping the spike he used for slippery surfaces. “Can you step back, over- thank you.”

He lifted his leg, tightened the cuff, then drove the spike into the floor, embedding it in the wood beneath him, possibly into the compressed dirt below it.

“Good?”

He shifted in place, testing his balance, then returned both hands to the shelf above his head. He nodded.

“Where were we?”

“I… you….”

“Yes. I think you’re right."

She dropped to one knee, nuzzling then tasting the hair on his stomach, the curving ridges of his abdominal muscles, biting and sampling how he reacted, while her hands explored the skin just below the waistband of his leggings.

He tried to speak again, then gave up.

“Perfect.” He was nearly incoherent.

When she she moved closer then sat back on her ankles, she kept her body close to his, and his erection ended up pressing against the length of her throat as she looked up at him.

His eyes were closed, his head bent, his mouth tense. He looked like he was trying to coach himself through breathing, like he’d forgotten how.

Watching his face, knowing his eyes were closed, she reached up, and began to pull his leggings down, away from his body.

His eyes flew open, horror on his face. “Astrid, no. Wait.”

She stopped, looking up at him, her head tilted to the side.

“You - I… we - you can’t….” His mouth opened and closed a few times. Perhaps he couldn’t remember how to speak, either.

She rested her hands on the outsides of his thighs, reveling for a brief second on how firm and strong he was, how his legs felt like the steel of her axe beneath her palms. His strength, and her position kneeling in front of him, made her shift how she was sitting to relieve a small portion of her own aching, almost painful arousal.

Hiccup was gasping for air, his breathing erratic, still trying to speak.

“Hiccup. There’s no one here,” she whispered, her hands pressing against his legs, following the contours of yet more muscles she hadn’t explored. She leaned in, unable to stop herself from licking the outside curve of his abdomen, the muscle that taunted her by disappearing beneath his leggings, which were askew across his hips. She wanted to follow that muscle, chart a path from the freckles on his hip to the trail of hair down his belly, and see if they met where that muscle curved inward.

A wide and somewhat wicked smile on her face, she moved upward onto her knees, held his hips in her hands, and pressed the softness of her neck, then her breasts against the thick ridge of his arousal.

He tightened his grip on the shelf above his head, and his biceps stood out in hard relief, quivering a bit with tension.

“Astrid, you-“

“Listen.” She bit the side of his stomach, then held him still when his body shuddered in response. “I did what you did. I put arrows across the door, then closed it. There’s chain mail on the floor, and steel hanging over the edge of a table. No one can come in without us hearing.”

He looked at her, concern and heat mixed in his expression.

“No one will, either. Everyone’s in the Great Hall, and Gobber is out-“

“Weapons. Someone will bring some, looking for me.”

“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “It’s late, and they’re already drinking mead and singing. Can you hear them?”

He shook his head. “I can’t hear much beyond my own heartbeat right now.”

She grinned, incredibly happy. “They’ll wait until tomorrow. No one is looking for you. This is ours, right now.”

He looked away, arms quivering with strain, breathing uneven.

“Please,” she whispered. “I want….” She wasn’t sure how to articulate what she wanted. She wanted everything that was happening, she wanted his surrender, she wanted to know what it was like to throw him past the point of coherence.

His reply was barely a whisper, accompanied by the barest of nods. “Oh, Gods.” 

His body bowed forward a bit, as if he were bracing himself for something painful. Instinctively, she ran her palms along his sides, kissing his stomach, trying to soothe the tension so he’d relax. She couldn’t reach him if he was bent towards her.

Then she realized he was trying to form words and speak.

“What?”

“If you… when you…oh, Gods.” He let go of the shelf with one hand and rubbed his forehead on his wrist. Then he drew a deep breath and closed his eyes. “If you touch me, I won’t be able to… I’ll…you...you and… I won’t last.”

Was that all? That was kind of the point, wasn’t it?

She nudged his belly with her chin, waiting until he opened his eyes before she replied.

Then she smiled. “Perfect.”

He relaxed - as much as he was able to, anyway, holding himself upright using a high shelf and the wood floor beneath him.

But for a moment, she stilled, unsure. “So… may I? Please?”

He nodded, closing his eyes again, his mouth tense.

Her hands were eager, betraying her impatience. She drew the waistband of his leggings down over his hips, revealing his erection.

His freckles did continue below his waist, intersecting that curve of muscle she loved, which, if she touched too lightly, made him screech with laughter. The hair changed from a thin line to a wider patch that, like his skin, was still damp from the water he poured over himself.

She’d heard from all the women in her family about different acts, how they worked, and why. The entire idea of using her mouth had repulsed her at the time - why would anyone want to _do_ that? It seemed ridiculous.

She looked at him now. Her mouth watered.

She wanted to spend the rest of the night exploring him, watching what happened if she used her hands, her mouth, or both. She wanted to make him feel what he’d done to her in this same space, on the other side of the room, on his desk.

Slowly, she wrapped her hand around him, listening to his reaction, watching his breathing, the flex and quiver of his abdomen. He grew harder for a moment, almost widening in her palm. The skin was incredibly soft; she couldn’t stop touching, exploring, feeling the difference between the top, the sides, the gentle, tender spaces beneath.

Hiccup sounded as if his breathing were about to fragment into pieces he’d never be able to reassemble. She watched the movement of her hands as she learned his body, learned his reactions, all the while glancing up at his face, listening to the sounds he made, the groan of the wood above his head as his hands squeezed until his fingers were white.

She varied what she did, stroking, pulling her palm along the side, over the top, then down, rubbing her thumb along the underside, trying to reconcile what she was learning with what little she remembered from a conversation years before that she hadn’t really wanted to have.

Then she leaned forward and touched him with her tongue. He gasped and muttered, and the noise pushed her like she was jumping off the edge of the cliff into the water. Within the space between one breath and another, she dove in.

She licked the length of him, testing his weight on her tongue, tasting the faint salt of his skin, the way the texture changed. She varied what she did on instinct, exploring him with her mouth, her tongue, her hands. He hissed and gasped her name when she let one of her teeth brush across him.

He liked that.

She ran the sharp edge of the teeth at the corner of her mouth down along the shaft, and he shuddered. She used her nails to scrape against his testicles, pulling them into her hand.

He moaned, his body shaking. He dropped his hands from the shelf above to the wall behind him, gripping the wood with his palms and fingertips, leaning his head back, gasping aloud.

“You might want to be quiet,” she said before taking him fully into her mouth, savoring the sound, the taste, the knowledge of what she was doing to him.

“Not sure… how.”

“You’ll figure it out.” She gripped him tightly in her hand, her fingertips trying to close around him, barely meeting. “I did.”

He tried to laugh, then bit back what sounded like a groan as she slid her fingers tightly along the length of his erection, feeling the firmness increase beneath her touch.

She drew the tip into her mouth, suckling gently while her hand moved firmly along his shaft. The power and overwhelming sensation of what she was doing, how it felt, how he tasted, all the control she held over him at that moment pooled in her belly, painful and hot. This was far from repulsive.

This was amazing.

It was wonderful.

She’d do this every day for the rest of her life if she could.

He palm flattened against the wall with a low sound. “Astrid…you…I’m going-“

She slid her tongue over him, and moved away long enough to whisper, “Yes, please.”

Then she pulled her hand tighter along the length again, letting her nails scrape as her tongue and teeth slid over the top. He bent forward a bit, gasping, whispering her name, trying to speak and unable to move beyond calling out to her in a harsh whisper.

He grabbed the wall, the door frame, the shelf above his head, like he was trying to keep himself tethered to the ground, like he might fly away. She rested her hand on his left thigh, a solid, quivering length of muscle, feeling him press the metal of his leg deeper into the floor with his considerable strength.

She pulled the edge of her teeth back along the top of his erection, bringing the tight grip of her hand against her lips, then moved forward and down, tightening and drawing him deeper into his mouth. She felt him quivering against her tongue and reveled in it.

“Oh, Gods. Astrid.” He was panting, gasping for air.

Then she felt him lose control, heard the strangled cry as he tried to be quiet, and tasted the incredible triumph of his release. He thrust into her hand, towards her mouth, and she easily met each movement with her own, trying to prolong the exquisite feeling of flying that she knew surrounded him.

She kept moving, slowly, releasing the tension of her grip gradually as he curled slightly forward over her, his breathing returning to something close to normal.

“Astrid.”

Her tongue slid over him one last time before she spoke. “You need to work on being more quiet.”

His eyes opened.

She grinned at him. “You can practice. I’ll help. Bring your staff.”

He bent over, laughing helplessly, wiping his forehead on his arm, then straightening to help her stand.

Then, without warning, he pulled the spear of his leg from the floor and spun her around, moving her with the strength of his arms, pinning her to the wall with his body. He kissed her deeply, his hands flat against the wall above her head, making sure not to touch her.

She reached up to grip his wrists, then wrapped her legs around him, feeling his strength, his legs pressing into the floor, his arms and body easily supporting her, pushing her into the wall.

He continued to hold her up, kissing her between uneven, deeply drawn breaths. Then he rested his forehead on hers, looking into her eyes.

She tightened her legs to bring him closer. “I’ll go clean up outside while you… clean up here?”

He nodded, and she dropped her feet to the floor. He might have whispered something, but she missed it, slipping past him out into the blinding heat and light of the forge.


	29. Distraction and Direction

Hiccup was almost entirely sure the forge was spinning around him, and he was standing still. That was the only explanation that accounted for the fact that he couldn’t take two steps without grabbing onto something to steady himself. He was wobbly like first mornings after he first woke up from The Great Battle. He’d jump out of bed, forgetting he was missing half his leg, forgetting that when he stood up, one half of him was supported by wood and metal, and he’d overcompensate and fall to the floor. 

Now, he knew his prosthetic as intimately as he knew the rest of his body, possibly more because he spent so much time refining it, but crossing his workroom to get to his desk seemed impossible. 

He could barely focus on anything, and couldn’t remember what he’d been doing before he’d entered his workroom, before Astrid had followed him and before-

He grabbed the back of his chair and sat down, dropping his head to his desk for a moment to catch his breath. He’d taken three steps, maybe four, and he was exhausted. 

It probably wasn’t because of the walking. 

Hiccup closed his eyes and counted slow. He knew his name. He knew where he was. He knew he had to go into the main room of the forge. He could hear Astrid putting things back, the drag of chains on the floor as she moved them to their barrel, the light ping of the arrowheads as she leaned them one by one back against the stone wall. 

If anyone was going to be aware of perimeter and security, it was Astrid, he thought with a small laugh. 

He never dreamed or thought.… 

Well, that wasn’t really true. 

He’d wondered. But he never let himself fantasize what it would be like. All his fantasies had focused mostly on what he could do to her, what he could learn, what he could do correctly, then refine and do again. He’d never really indulged himself in what it would be like if she -

Even now, he wouldn’t let himself think about it. 

He sat up, opening his eyes, and only just stopped himself from rubbing his hands through his hair. They were still dirty, covered with soot and polish, and he needed to wash them immediately.

He’d done enough thinking for now. He was pretty sure he could remember how to walk. Possibly form complete sentences. 

Hiccup stood, adjusted the cuff of his leg, loosening it slightly, and was about to open the door when a tiny flash of light caught his attention. The coin, Finn’s coin, was on his desk. 

He put it in his pocket. 

 

…

 

Astrid was perched on the table, legs folded beneath her, the banner of Finn unfolded across her lap. For a moment, in the changing light of the forge, he’d though she’d changed her clothing, that she’d put on a long skirt of some sort, and the sight disoriented him again, sending his mind spinning in all directions. 

“All cleaned up?” Astrid’s voice was light, but there was a sharp curl of humor beneath it, and he felt his face turning red. He grabbed the bucket off the table and moved toward the side door and the barrel of water beside it.

“I- I have to, uh - to wash my hands.”

“Uh huh.” He could hear the smile on her face, but she didn’t look up from the stitch she was making. 

Until she muttered a curse and brought her finger to her mouth, frowning. 

“Needles still sharp?”

Her answering growl followed him toward the door, but the gleam of her axe blade stopped him. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He put the bucket down and picked up the axe. “Still need to sharpen this.”

“You left your apron in the back.” 

Hiccup glanced at her. Her head was tilted to the side, her smile slight, but her eyes were dancing and crinkled at the corners, and he could tell she was holding in laughter. 

“Thanks. You stay there,” he added, nudging her with his elbow on his way past. 

“Or you’ll what?”

He didn’t bother to reply. Reaching down to grab his apron from the floor by his desk, he put it on with careful movements and walked back toward her axe. Astrid had returned her attention to the fabric that covered her, and he stopped for a moment to look at her, allowing his eyes to lose focus slightly. 

With the banner falling across her legs, the lightweight fabric sliding through the air currents of the forge, she looked like she was wearing a gown of green, red, and white, lit with gold by the fire. 

The room spun a little, this time around Astrid. 

“You’re moving slowly,” she said, still not looking up. He blinked and turned to her axe.

“Y- yeah. I, ah, I don’t trust my, um, my hands near sharp things.”

Her laugh was soft, barely audible. “A little unsteady, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s good.” 

This time, he laughed, loud and a little embarrassed. Then he picked up her axe and started the sharpening stone. 

Sparks shot from the edge as he honed it, leaning most of ihs weight onto the blade, watching carefully for any sign of a chip or bend in the metal. He wasn’t making that mistake again. He wouldn’t get away with swapping one axe for another so easily, either. 

Hiccup tried not to glance up at Astrid, now partially concealed in the shadows and obscured by the tiny flares of light in front of him. But he did, twice, and both times the illusion of her in a gown caused his thoughts to stutter and spin, and he made himself look away, pay closer attention to the axe, and less to its owner. 

After he’d sharpened the edge on both sides, he polished it one final time, running a soft piece of leather over the flat blade repeatedly until it gleamed, almost a light source on its own. 

Then he once again grabbed the bucket, filled it with water and went outside. 

When he returned, his hands were finally clean, scrubbed and a little red from the effort. Astrid was holding her axe, tossing it hand to hand, spinning it while watching the light bend over the blade and shatter into sparkles that flashed across the floor. 

“It’s incredible. Thank you.”

Hiccup smiled at her, wiping the last of the water from his wrists with a clean cloth. “Any time.” 

He took off his apron, hung it on a peg, and reached up to a high a shelf for a stack of wooden bowls.

When he turned, Astrid was staring at him. Staring at his waist, specifically. Oh, Gods. Had his leggings shifted? 

He looked down, shifting the bowls to one hand, but nothing seemed out of place or -

“What are those for?” 

Was her voice higher pitched than normal? “Um, I -, uh.” He swallowed. “Bread.”

“What?”

“Bread. Bread making?”

“Seriously?”

“Uh - well, if you don’t…”

“Oh, no. Thank Thor. I’ve been _waiting_ for this.” She moved in a flash of light and momentum toward the table she liked to sit on, pushed the banner fabric back into her bag in a messy bundle, and rested her axe handle on top. Then she turned to him. 

“So, what do I do?”

He’d lost his train of thought again. “Do?”

A handful of steps brought her within arms reach, but he didn’t move. She closed the remaining distance with one hand, sliding her palm around his side to rest on his back, fitting perfectly beside him. 

She looked up at him, mischief and anticipation on her face. 

“Teach me.” 

“You don’t… you don’t have anywhere you need to be? It kind of takes awhile.” The line of skin across his back where her hand had slid across was on fire. Her touch was molten on his side and he couldn’t move, not away, not towards it.

“Nope. I’m good. And like you said, a good lie is half true.”

He nodded, putting the bowls in a line on the table. 

“So tell me what to do.”

“Um. Well, you, uh, you might get flour on your clothes. Want an apron?”

“Eh, I’m not worried,” she said with a shrug and a wave of her hand. 

He couldn’t think of what to say next, so he gathered ingredients from the different containers he stored them in and set them on the table. Astrid pulled the metal jar of flour towards her and examined the lid. 

“Iron for your flour?”

“Yeah. It’s, uh, it’s a fire hazard if it’s in the air. I don’t want it to blow around the forge if it’s windy, so the lid has to be heavy. And the sides, too, to support the lid.”

“And the decoration?”

He laughed, reaching into a cabinet to pull out a length of fabric. “I was practicing.”

“This looks like the peg detail on the axe you made me.”

He could feel his face begin to burn again, and shrugged with one shoulder. “Yeah. Like I said, practice.”

He couldn’t look from the table and meet her eyes when he returned to her side, placing the fabric and a second apron on the table next to the bowls. But he had to when she nudged him once, then twice, in the side. 

Astrid grinned and pushed her hair away from her face as she looked up at him. He was never going to get used to being taller than she was, that he had to tilt his head down to see her. 

Her smile grew. “Thank you.”

He smiled in return, then set about trying to explain how he and Gobber figured out how to bake bread in the forge. Within a few minutes, they were up to their forearms in sticky dough, mixing and kneading by hand in large wooden bowls that Hiccup was pretty sure Gobber had carved long before Hiccup was born.

“So it’s actually too hot in here, and you have to let it rise somewhere cooler?”

He nodded. “I have a shelf in my workroom…”

Astrid turned her head in a snap, a surprised and devilish expression on her face. 

“Not that one.” 

“I would like to see this… other shelf.” She spoke slowly, her tone thoughtful. 

“Soon enough,” he replied, shaking his head at her. 

The wet, lumpy dough in his bowl slowly became more smooth and elastic, and he pulled the cloth closer and unrolled it.

“How’s yours?”

Astrid grimaced. “Looks nothing like yours.”

She was right. The ingredients in her bowl were only partially mixed, and the dough had covered her hands more than it had formed a cohesive ball.

“I think you’re not kneading with enough force.”

“More force? I can do that.”

“No, no, not like that.”

He moved to her side just as she shifted closer to the table edge and slid her body in front of his. She spoke over her shoulder, her tone brisk. “Show me.”

“I’m- you.” He sighed. “Alright.”

He tried to move around her shoulder armor, but it was impossible to reach in front of her and not stab himself with one of the spikes. 

“Oh, right - sorry about that. Can you take my armor off?”

Hiccup ignored the way his heart sped up and the momentary skip in his breath, unlaced her armor, and placed it onto the table beside her. 

“Show me how to do this?”

He moved closer, directly behind her, and cursed himself for not putting a shirt on. It was too hot to wear one if he was working, what with the fire being so high, but he could feel the warmth of her through the thin layers of clothing that stood between them. He avoided her skirt, and the accompanying spikes, but his arms rested against her waist as he wound his hands under hers, and tried to demonstrate how to mix, then knead the dough she’d made. 

His mind was struggling to function properly, to put the right words in the right order to explain. The curve of her breasts brushed against the sensitive skin on the inside of his arms, and he couldn’t think past that small point of contact where his pulse beat against her skin, where every sharp point of his attention was focused on the fact that she didn’t move away. 

She moved closer. 

She moved again, a possibly deliberate slide of her back across his belly, and his breathing stopped and restarted. It had been an hour, maybe less. He was still so sensitive, everywhere. Odin only knew how he’d managed to sharpen an axe. He could barely use his hands. 

He could do this. Just say words, explain what to do. 

He shouldn’t move his arms, though, because that would bring her closer to him, press his body against her in a way she may not want, and… it would be better to stay still. 

Then she moved again, and he could hear her speaking, but he didn’t understand what she said. 

He tried to cover her hands with his own, to move so she would stop shifting and sliding against him. Did she know what she was doing to him?

She glanced at him, and the gleam of her eyes and the smile on her face told him plenty. She knew. She knew what she was doing to him.

Oh, Gods. 

She pressed back against him again, arching her back, and his mind erupted into a riot of hot sensation and impossible arousal that stopped his heart. 

Using the strength of his arms and his legs, he pressed her body against his, holding her, his hands tight over hers, his forearms against her hips, trapping her between the edge of the table and the ridge of his body. 

“Hold still,” he said. His voice was darker than he wanted it to be, than he meant it to be. “Do not move.”

She stiffened, any softness turning rigid beneath his touch. He opened his mouth to apologize when she turned her head to look at him. 

Her eyes were wide, her pupils dilated. Her mouth had dropped open, and her breath slowed, then stuttered in a low gasp. 

Astrid flexed her fingers, sliding them between this, then curled tightly, her nails digging into his skin for a moment, a bite that helped him focus. 

Hiccup realized two things in rapid succession. 

One, he needed to apologize and explain quickly and clearly before his entire body exploded into nothing. 

And two… Astrid _really_ liked being told what to do. 

He flexed his arms again, holding her still, her body taut, pressed against his. The soft fabric of her shirt was warm, hot even, and when she leaned into him, arching her back further, he felt the gathered fabric of her bindings against his chest. 

She was still looking up at him, watching his expression.

He shifted his weight, moving away from her skirt, and, pulling his fingers loose, wrapped one arm across her stomach, his hand in a fist to keep from scattering flour and dough on her clothing. 

“Hold. Still.” He spoke softly, none of the prior harshness in his voice. But he wouldn’t allow her to move, to shift or even turn away from him. 

She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, heat and desire increasing in the way she looked at him, eyes hooded, focus intent. Her head tilted slightly, but she didn’t speak. She waited, listening for his next instruction.

Her eyes dropped to his lips, then to his chest, before she looked in his eyes again. The silence between them stretched like molten steel, hot and dangerous. 

Astrid wet her lips again, then whispered. “Show me.”

He started to move but stopped himself. 

She frowned. “What?”

“Your skirt is, um, it’s-“

“Ah.” She reached for the waistband with one hand, then tried to pull her fingers free from his grasp, but he shook his head and wouldn’t let her go. 

“Gobber will be back soon. You can’t.”

She frowned, eyes narrowing, and tried to pull her hand free, though with not as much effort as before. “It’s fine. We’d hear him.”

Desire and worry battled in his mind, and probably in his expression. He wanted to press his body against hers, feel her arch against him, watch what changed on her face if he told her what to do, gave her specific instructions to follow, told her how to use her hands, her fingertips. 

The last large piece of wood on the fire broke in half, sending sparks into the air, a burst of gold and red that lit them both before shadows took over and filled the room. The fire was dying. He didn’t want to go add more fuel to it. He didn’t want to move. But if he didn’t… he wanted her to see him, and he wanted to be able to see her face. He’d learned so much reading the subtle shifts of her expression, how she responded to his voice, to what he said. 

Astrid rose onto her toes and covered his mouth with hers. Her fingers gripped his tightly while her other hand slowly moved over his chest, over his heart. Her skin was sticky with dough, and she left some of it on his skin when she lifted her palm. He caught her right hand in his, and brought it to the table, holding her within the circle of his arms again. 

“You don’t follow directions well,” he said when she moved away. He kept his voice soft, but his arms and hands were firm, holding her in place. 

She shook her head. 

Then she turned and licked away the traces of dough from his chest, her teeth scraping over his skin and making him gasp. “Nope.”

“Watch.” He turned her attention to the dough in front of them, and demonstrated how to mix the remaining flour in by folding and refolding the sticky mass onto itself, slowly incorporating more as the texture turned smoother, more elastic, and less sticky. 

“How did you do that?”

He shrugged. “Practice.” 

She grunted in response, a low, frustrated sound, and watched his hands closely. 

Hiccup glanced at her neck, and watched a red flush make its way from her collarbone to her face. She had to be overly warm in the forge, wearing wool, plus bindings, plus her skirt and, until a few minutes before, her armor. But he couldn’t think of a way to reduce what she was wearing without putting her in a potentially disastrous situation. 

He turned the dough over one more time, then placed it back in the bowl. Then he picked up his, and hers, to put them in his workroom. 

In the moments he’d been working, his focus elsewhere, she’d subtly pressed him backwards, and when he shifted to move past her, she spun and faced him, grabbing the waistband of his leggings in her hands, stopping him in his tracks. 

He froze, a bowl in each hand, her hands pulling the fabric of his leggings taut so he had no choice but to lean toward her. 

Her smile was as wicked as her fingers, which she slid along his waist, teasing him. “So now what do we do?” 

“Now?” 

She nodded, but didn’t release her grip. 

“I have to put the bread in my work room to give it time to rise.”

A knowing and wicked expression came over her face. “I see.”

“Grab the cloth?” 

She nodded, let go, then followed him. He moved slowly, partly because it was darker and he didn’t want to miss a step and fall, and partly because his leggings were held up by his erection and a few stray pieces of dough. 

Astrid passed in front of him and took one of the bowls from his hand. “Tell me where?”

“Shelf in the back corner by my desk.”

She reached up, tipped the bowl onto the shelf, and took the other from his hand. 

“So what’s with the fabric?”

“Cover the tops of the bowls with it. Keeps the dough clean. Well, cleaner than it would be without it.”

She laughed. “It is a forge.”

“Yeah. It is.” 

She draped the waxed cloth over the bowls, then turned. 

“Now what?” 

She answered her own question by placing her hands against his stomach and pushing him back toward his desk. 

His reply was a laugh and a gasp as he covered her hands with his again and pulled her closer. “Oh, no, you don’t.”

“I don’t what?”

“You don’t get to be in charge. That’s what.”

Astrid drew a deep breath and her body tilted toward him as if she were about to pounce, to spring forward off her toes and launch her body into his. He instinctively braced his weight against his prosthetic and prepared to shift into her momentum, but one faint clank of metal and wood stopped them both. 

They waited. Hiccup held his breath. And then the sound came again, closer this time. Along with off-key singing about yaks and blue flowers. 

“Gobber.”

Hiccup nodded. 

Astrid scowled. 

He could understand her frustration. Before he could think twice, second guess himself and question his instincts, he pulled Astrid’s hands and spun them both until Astrid stood in front of him again, her arms crossed in front of her, his hands tightly holding her against his body. He ignored the pressure of her skirt, the way the steel spikes pressed into his erection in a way that didn’t hurt, but made the searing arousal more sharp. 

His whisper was low, harsh and firm, just into her ear. 

“I’m sorry I can’t do to you what you did to me.” 

Astrid didn’t respond. The rapid gasp of her breathing, the way her body nestled against his, seeking more contact, more sensation, was the answer he needed. 

“I owe you - everything you did.” 

Her head dropped back to rest against his shoulder. Her eyes were closed, her mouth open slightly. 

He lowered his whisper, though no one could hear him but her, as Gobber was still a few minutes away from entering the forge. 

“I want you to… do everything. To yourself. Tonight.”

She shuddered, a slight, intoxicating movement. 

“You’ll manage… on your own?”

Astrid nodded. She had to wet her lips twice before she spoke. “More fun with you.”

“Next time. Promise.” 

He pressed a kiss to her temple, then whispered instructions, the rhythm of his speech similar to the somewhat harsh tone that had made her react before. “Go back into the forge, find your armor and put it on. There’s a wet rag and bucket by the back door. Begin wiping the table. I’ll be out shortly.”

“What are you doing?”

“You’ll see.”

He released her, but held her hands until she was steady on her own feet, her balance restored from resting so firmly against him. She looked over her shoulder up at him, her eyes frustrated, her mouth tense. 

Then she turned, reached one hand around his neck, and pulled him toward her into a hot, ferocious open mouthed kiss that nearly blew his mind apart. Her tongue slid over his, her hands hot on his skin, his neck, fisting the fabric of his leggings to pull him closer. 

The loud clatter of wood against stone outside broke the intensity and they pulled apart. 

Astrid turned and hurried into the main room, and he heard the sound of the bucket on the main table as she followed his instructions. 

He dug until he found an old shirt in the storage box beneath his desk and pulled it on. Gobber would have a lot to say if he found Hiccup without his shirt on and Astrid present, none of it a conversation he wanted to have. Hiccup was pretty sure there was flour and dough on his chest and back, too. 

He looked down at himself, and sighed. He needed an apron, too. For concealment. 

But before he went back into the main room, he found a scrap of paper and some charcoal, and moved until he had just enough light.

 

…

 

Astrid was scrubbing the table as if her life depended on it when Gobber came in. The look on his face would have made her laugh if any amusement had been within her reach. She was hot, sweaty, tense, aroused and frustrated, and Gobber was the cause. 

She straightened. 

No, not the cause. 

Gobber was the obstacle that prevented her from jumping on Hiccup the way she wanted to. She had memories of Hiccup’s desk. She wanted to experience them again, and she couldn’t. 

Gobber glanced at her and smiled broadly, the waning firelight glinting off his rock tooth. 

“Evening, Astrid. Where’s Hiccup?”

“Back here, Gobber,” Hiccup replied, coming through the door to his workroom. He’d put on a shirt and an apron, and was carrying a large metal tray in one hand. 

She looked back at Gobber, evaluating his expression. 

He was frowning. “Back there, eh? Working on the next piece?”

“Yeah, that and showing Astrid how to make bread.”

Hiccup still hadn’t crossed the room toward her. He was standing by the high table she usually sat on. Was he avoiding her?

Then she turned her head and stared. She could have sworn she heard Gobber mutter something like, “That’s too bad.”

Everyone was gone mad and no one made sense, she decided. 

“Make all the deliveries?” Now Hiccup came near her, reaching past her to grab another rag to wipe down the table. 

“Oh, aye. All weapons restored to their rightful owners, shiny and better than new. Which reminds me - Astrid, I saw Sigrid. She said you’re to bring your axe home with you.”

Astrid frowned, but nodded. 

 

…

 

Later, in the warm and quiet darkness of her room, Astrid looked out the window above her bed and counted the stars. It didn’t make her any more sleepy. 

She wanted to be stubborn, to disobey out of a perverse sense of pride or determination, but she realized with a sigh she was being ridiculous. 

She listened for any movement, any noise that indicated someone in the house was awake. Only silence greeted her, steady and safe. 

She rolled to her side and reached beneath her bed, pulling out the small bundle of waxed cloth she’d found in her bag, tucked amid the folds of the banner she was repairing. 

Hiccup had put it there, but she hadn’t had time or opportunity to open the packet since she’d left the forge - not with Sigrid finding her on her way home, then her mother, both of them talking over one another the entire walk back to their house. Then there’d been a late meal, more talking, and apologies that came in the form of compliments and teasing. Both of them were sorry they’d upset her, and with the forceful way Sigrid was glancing at her mother, Astrid was pretty sure who had won the argument she’d run away from earlier. 

When she’d climbed into bed, she hadn’t wanted to look, to unwrap what he’d given her. She hadn’t wanted to do what he’d told her to, either, to obey his instructions. But now she couldn’t think of a reason why she shouldn’t except for stubbornness, and that seemed pretty silly. 

The weight of the tiny folded bundle was slight, but she recognized the pattern of the folds instantly. If she didn’t open the sequence correctly, she might tear or break whatever was inside. He’d taught her ages ago, like a secret code of cloth and paper instead of words and signals. 

Astrid curled onto her side, looking at the package in her hand. There was a faint dusting of flour in one corner, and seeing it filled her body with curls of heat that spread through her limbs and collected in her core. 

Refusing to follow his instructions was just ridiculous, she decided. With careful, slow movements, she unfolded one corner, then a side, and then the other, until the waxed cloth opened to reveal a fold of paper, and a coin. 

Her coin. 

She almost laughed aloud, but caught herself in time, one hand over her mouth. 

He gave her back the coin. He understood. 

He owed her one. 

Oh, and she was going to make sure he paid, too. 

Then she unfolded the paper. 

At first, she didn’t understand it. It didn’t make sense. It was just a bunch of curving lines, a series of dashes of charcoal across the page. 

Did he sketch her a weapon? It wouldn’t be the oddest thing for him to sketch for her, but why hide a drawing like that inside a tightly coded fold of cloth?

Then she turned the paper and couldn’t stop herself from gasping aloud. 

It was them. 

It was a drawing of them. 

She turned it again, tilting the paper toward the scant amount of light that shone through her window, her mouth open in awe. 

It was the two of them, in the cave, her body straddling his, his hand, suggested by a shadow she could see he’d smudged deliberately into the paper… his hand over her hip. 

The line of her back, another line for her hair, both curved over the shadow of his body, which arched toward her, pulling her closer. 

One stroke of the charcoal was his arm, moving toward her in the moment before his fingertips brushed over her breast. 

As she deciphered his drawing, another curve became her hands pushing his hair back, her mouth reaching for his. 

Astrid tried to slow her breathing, but felt like she was being set on fire from the inside out. Her hand slipped beneath the light blanket that covered her, fingers pushing aside the light cotton shift she wore. 

She held the drawing in one hand, following each line, decoding the illustration into movement and sensation, his skill capturing his desire and hesitation as he reached for her, hers as she slid her body over his.

She closed her eyes, and the drawing danced on her eyelids, flooding her imagination with images. The way he touched her skin, the way his fingers felt over hers, holding her tightly, then showing her how to work the bread dough, moving over and through it, changing the texture with pressure and touch. 

Her fingers kneaded gently, shaping her arousal into an intense need, giving the thoughts and fantasies that tormented her a direction to go, a path to follow. The image of the drawing mixed in her mind, combined with the memory of his touch, his scent, the way he tasted, the way he’d felt when she’d pinned him against the wall, the way she wanted him to do the same to her. 

Moments later, her body arched off her bed, her mouth tracing the shape of his name.

 


	30. Unwinding History and Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonsoir, mes amis. Please forgive my long absence, and thank you for all the comments and messages you have left!

The trouble with working in a forge was that Hiccup never fully felt clean, even after washing with multiple buckets of water. Visiting the springs was always an option, but it was a hike, and he didn’t like to take that much time to get there, make sure not that many people were around if at all possible, bathe, and then hike back. Especially that week, with all that was going on and yet to be done, he didn’t feel that he had the time.

The skin on his arms and hands was red from scrubbing and his hair was still wet when he wandered from the forge up the hill to his house late that afternoon, but he still felt the gritty residue from the fire and the metalwork all over him. Fishlegs had once told him that he’d been jealous of Hiccup when they were younger, that he’d thought Hiccup’s job in the forge was so interesting and so much better than his because there was so much to learn and create.

Hiccup shook his head at the memory. Interesting was one word for it, maybe. Today he’d learned that each morning hour could stretch into an endless cycle of forge fires that pulsed with heat and required constant fuel. That monotony had been augmented by an endless supply of weapons arriving in the forge window that needed sharpening, polishing, or, in some cases, subtle work and a little diplomacy to convince the owner that any major efforts to polish a weapon that old would cause it to fall to pieces. He was tired, sweaty, and his legs felt heavy. The path up the hill to his home looked longer than the last hour had been, and his steps slowed when he saw Gobber and Stoick come out the front door.

Gobber, sharp as ever, noticed him first. “Hiccup! Finally finished the crossbow, did ye?”

“Yeah, thanks for leaving me with that one.”

“Ah, well, you know I’ve tried to tell old Magnus that his crossbow might well be older than he is. He doesn’t listen to me.”

“Well, he didn’t listen to me either. Does he listen to anyone?”

“No, he doesn’t,” Gobber replied with a wide grin. “That’s why I left you to deal with him.”

Stoick snorted and tried to cover it with a cough. “Glad you’re here, son. We need to go over some of our own antiquated equipment.”

Hiccup sighed heavily. “Oh, Gods.”

Gobber glanced at him and turned to Stoick. “Ye know, Stoick, the mantle and shield, they’re… well, they smell kinda bad to be honest with ye - even after a good hour of yak bladder polish.”

Stoick made a face that indicated clearly what he thought of that polish, but shook his head. “It’s history and tradition. Part of a major ceremony.”

“Yeah, I know,” Hiccup said, rubbing his hand through his hair as he climbed the last step to his home. “It doesn’t… fit all that well.”

Stoick’s grunt was the only reply as they turned and went into the house together. It was dark inside, and a little cooler. The light from the open door glinted off the items in question, spread out on the table next to the trunk they were stored in. On top was an old fur designed to be worn over one shoulder. Stoick had told Hiccup once it was cut from the same fur used for his own mantle, the one he wore daily as chief, but unfortunately, the smaller piece had not worn as well over the years. It had torn edges and was stretched out end to end, so while it was supposed to be worn tight across the wearer, most of the time it hung down like a limp rope. Whenever Hiccup had to wear it, invariably he tripped on it. Usually in front of everyone in the village.

He approached the table and picked it up, looking closely at the faded leather on the underside, wondering if there were a way to modify the fur so that it wasn’t potentially embarrassing but still held the original ceremonial purpose, which was to visually connect him to the chief and signify his role as hope and heir to the tribe.

He laughed quietly to himself, a small huff of breath and a bare smile. He and his father looked so much alike, after all. He understood how people might be confused.

The shield, which rested on the table next to the fur of bad memories, Hiccup liked even less. It was uneven, thicker on one side and difficult to carry. It made him even less agile because he used one of his arms and half of his strength to keep his balance while he held it.

The face of it, the design was the important part, though, not the shield itself. The metal bore deep carvings of the chief’s seal, and Berk’s crest, surrounded by a wide border of runes and symbols representing the founding families of Berk. He traced each one - his family, and Fishlegs’ ancestors, several of his neighbors and friends. He smiled when he ran a fingertip over an axe and tiny leaf.

With a start, Hiccup recognized the style. “Gobber, did you make this?”

“Oh, aye, ye didn’t know? Finn and me, when we were just starting out learning the craft. We made that. I was younger than you are now, I think. Took ages, it did. ”

It might have been awkward to hold, but he couldn’t - and wouldn’t - try to avoid carrying it now.He followed the border around the edge again, trying to think of a way to make it less cumbersome. He couldn’t thin the metal. Could he tie it to the fur mantle in some way, or wear it on his back?

“Ye know, I think there’s a smaller one. Or a set.”

“A set of what?”

“You stay put - I’ll find it. Know just where it is. Found it the other day when I was looking for old yak bladders.”

Hiccup shuddered at the thought as Gobber made his way out the door and down the hill to the forge. Maybe wearing the fur and the shield wouldn’t be so bad this time. He’d grown significantly in the time since the last large ceremony. But when Hiccup picked up the shield to examine the handle and try holding it, his hands came away covered in sticky brown polish, which ran thin and dripped immediately onto his arm and leg, soaking his shirt and leggings.

“Oh, great.”

“Aye, that stuff is foul,” Stoick said, passing him a bucket to rinse his hands in.

“I’m going to have to go back to the springs to get the stink off me.” Hiccup shook his head. “Just what I have time for.”

Stoick stilled, his eyebrows lowering into a frown.

Then, to Hiccup’s horror, he rubbed his hands together and started pacing, a sure sign that he wanted to Have A Talk, and that Hiccup would likely not enjoy the subject.

Resigned to hearing whatever it was, he scrubbed his hands and waited.

“Son, there are a lot of parts that come with being the chief. Ye know some of them, but others, well, it hasn’t been the time. But maybe this one I can share with you.”

Hiccup’s eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out what his father was saying. Stoick moved across the table and picked up the sword he carried for ceremonial events. His father’s usual weapon was a hammer or an axe, but their ancestor several generations back had insisted on a sword as the chief’s symbol. The carving and metalwork on that sword was older than just about everything on the island, except possibly Magnus’ crossbow, and as Stoick examined it, for the first time Hiccup saw resignation in his father’s expression. Maybe Stoick didn’t find the chief’s sword easy or comfortable to carry, either, given how much he preferred his own weapons.

“Ye know the path that cuts off from the route to the springs, toward the waterfalls?”

Hiccup nodded. “Through the meadow.” He didn’t finish the rest of his thought, _where Astrid and I were._

“There’s a second path, a narrow one, marked by a series of small red rocks half buried in the ground. It leads up the mountain a good ways past the falls.”

Stoick held the sword in his hands, spinning the metal, turning the hilt over and examining the carving. Then he looked at Hiccup. “That’s the way to the Chief’s Cavern.”

“You have your own cavern?”

A smile flickered briefly across his face. “Aye. It’s a cave on the western side of the mountain. Inside there’s a large hot spring. Massive and very deep. It’s a secret, handed down chief to chief.”

“I’m not chief, though,” Hiccup replied automatically.

“You will be. And you should know. My father told me. Your….” Stoick swallowed hard and started again. “I’m the only one who knows about it now.”

“Not even Gobber?”

Stoick shook his head. “No. Just me. Now you.”

Hiccup realized that it had been years since he’d seen his father at the springs that the rest of the vikings used. Hiccup tended to avoid the most crowded times, but no one mentioned Stoick having been there when he arrived, and that would be the first thing people told him: “Ah, Hiccup, ye just missed your father. He was looking for you.”

It made sense for Stoick to have his own spring. The chief couldn’t display weakness or injury without upsetting or frightening people, and he couldn’t give any dissenting viking with thoughts of challenging him an opportunity to know where specifically he might be vulnerable.

Hiccup nodded slowly, fitting pieces of his life on Berk into a different order, revealing a new picture he understood. His dad needed a space to be alone just as much as he did. Maybe even more so.

“I leave two red rocks at the center of the entrance when I’m there. There’s a vent in the cavern that reaches the sky, so there’s light. No need to bring a lantern or candle most times.”

Hiccup nodded again, his mind racing to identify where, exactly, his father’s cavern was, and when he could go.

Stoick grinned, his expression quick and his smile surprisingly large across his face, then turned to remove his mantle to make sure everything was in place for the ceremony.

 

…

 

When Gobber returned a few minutes later, he’d brought with him two small metal disks and a large hammer.

“Found this, Stoick. Ye might like this better.”

“Ah, my old hammer.”

“Old?” Hiccup looked at him in disbelief. His father’s weapons were already pretty ancient, and from the stories people regularly told about the chief’s victories, they dated back to when his father was very young.

“Aye. Gobber’s da made this for me when I was a lad, before he made the larger one I use now. ” With familiarity and a fond smile, Stoick picked up the hammer, swinging it over his arms and tossing it hand to hand, much like Astrid with her axe.

“Better balance, the new one,” Gobber said, chewing on his words.

“Aye. Less carving, though.”

“Finn did that, though I did the part near the handle mount.” Gobber moved closer to look at the runes and symbols carved in to the ends. The force of impact over time had obliterated some, but others were still deep, the edges defined with blackened metal and the centers of each shape gleaming with recent polish.

“I got a lot done with this hammer,” Stoick said, putting it on the table next to the chief’s sword. “More useful than a sword. More like an axe, really.”

Hiccup smiled to himself.

Stoick put the hammer down on the table with a sigh. “Well, can’t carry two, so the sword it’ll have to be.”

“Why not carry the hammer? If it’s symbolic, the purpose or balance shouldn’t matter too much.”

Hiccup froze, rethinking his words after he spoke them aloud. But Stoick merely shrugged. “Tradition. Do something different and ye hear about it for weeks on end, if not years.”

Gobber placed two thick discs of metal on the table in front of Hiccup, each slightly larger than Gobber’s hook attachment. “Now, they might not be tradition and all, but I think these would work for ye.”

Hiccup picked one up and examined it closely. They were smaller versions of the shield, with the chief’s seal carved deeply into the metal, the details filled in against a black background. The Berk crest wasn’t there, but the runes for each family were pressed into the edge, only much larger, with each carving wrapping around so that the border captured light at different angles and glinted as Hiccup turned the disc in his hand. The Haddock seal, the Ingermann crest, the Hofferson axe… all the family symbols and crests were pressed into the border - with a leafy vine winding through them all.

Gobber held the other in his hand, looking at it with a fond but sad expression. “That vine is Finn’s handiwork. Wanted to represent how his family had tied the village together in the early days, but the chief then, no offense, Stoick, he didn’t like the way it looked.”

“None taken,” Stoick replied, pulling off his vambraces. “My grandfather had lousy taste.”

The glance that passed between the two men held a meaning that Hiccup didn’t understand. Then Gobber laughed, though the sound held an edge. “Aye, that’s certainly true enough. Anyway, Finn made these as trials for the shield so he’d use less metal if he messed up. Not that he did. The man never made mistakes, not when it came to metalwork.”

Gobber fell silent for a moment, so Hiccup prodded him to continue, which felt very strange. Gobber usually didn’t require much in the way of prodding. “No?”

“Ach, no. Finn could do everything. Fighting, wood carving, metalwork, cooking - the man was a menace.”

Stoick laughed. “Remember the summer we all waited to see who he wanted to court so we wouldn’t have to compete with him?”

Gobber smiled. “Aye. Ye were a mess, ye big softy.”

Hiccup had never in his life heard anyone call Stoick “soft.”

But Stoick didn’t mind. He laughed harder. “I was terrified he’d set his eye on Valka, and I’d have been done for.”

Hiccup did not want this conversation to end. He’d never heard any of these stories. “But weren’t you, you know, the heir?”

Gobber snorted. “Aye, but even being the chief’s heir didn’t mean much against the marvelous perfection of Fearless Finn Hofferson.”

Stoick wiped his eyes with his fingers. He could barely speak around his own amusement. “Odin above, I really wanted to hate him.”

“Ah, but ye couldn’t. No one could. He was so bloody charming!”

“He could have married any woman in Berk. Anyone.” Stoick gestured to the items on the table in front of him. “Any family would have wanted him to align with theirs, would have given him whatever he wanted.”

“Didn’t your father once complain that you didn’t have any sisters?”

“Yes. But only once!” Stoick’s laugh filled the house. “Oh, Thor almighty. I haven’t thought about that in years. My mother was furious, came after him with a poker when he said it.”

Hiccup was confused. “But Finn… never married.”

The laughter faded. “No,” Gobber said, his voice quieter. “He didn’t. He died before he could.”

“And, well,” Stoick added, lifting then putting down his old hammer before he spoke. “The status of the founding families was very different back then.”

“Aye,” Gobber agreed with a slow nod. “A lot has changed.”

Hiccup was still confused, but before he could ask, another heavy glance passed between Stoick and Gobber, and Gobber busied himself prying up the metal bar across the back of each miniature shield.

Stoick rubbed his hands together before he spoke again. “After Finn, well, there wasn’t anyone in his family, in all of Berk, who came close to being like him.”

“Not in that generation, anyway,” Gobber added.

“Aye. That’s changed, for sure.” Stoick pulled on his beard, a sign he was weighing his words before he spoke them. “Fortunes have changed, too, not that anyone likes to talk about it -“

“Except for Spitelout,” Gobber said with a slight sneer.

Stoick snorted. “Aye. ’Tis true, that. But the rest of the families, they - that is, _we_ …we don’t talk about it.”

Hiccup nodded. That part he understood easily. Discussing the wealth of his family and the wealth of other families in Berk was not something he’d ever heard anyone do, or done himself. Part of being chief meant that everything belonged to Stoick, and through him, to Hiccup. Stoick was generous and careful, making sure everyone in the tribe had what they needed, and that there was always mead, furs, food, and shelter for everyone, but everything was his. As chief and head of the Hooligan clan, he owned all of it, including the island.

Much of the time growing up, Hiccup felt embarrassed that his family had so much, and knew that the village for the most part thought that as a scrawny inept viking with a tendency to burn or destroy things, he wasn’t worthy of any of it.

He still felt that way, sometimes.

Gobber’s voice broke through the misery of his thoughts. “But, as ye said, things are very different now.”

“Aye,” Stoick agreed with a winking smile at Hiccup. “Just a little.”

“Here, Hiccup, grab the fur and come over here. Got an idea.”

“Uh, sure. O-okay.”

Gobber held up the two small shields. Each had a thin needle of metal lifting up from the back at an angle. “We can pin the fur to your shoulders with these, make it look less like old Magnus’s trousers.”

Stoick’s laugh was immediate, but Hiccup was hesitant - he wasn’t sure he wanted Gobber pinning anything on his body using one hand and one hook.

“Wait, I’ll be, uh, I’ll be wearing my flight armor, right? I have, uh, have a patrol after the ceremony, so, um, the fit might not be right.”

“Aye, that’s true. But let’s give it a shot.”

After glancing from Hiccup to Gobber and back again, Stoick came over and held out his hand for the disc. “May I take a look?”

“Oh, of course.”

“You did that part?”

Gobber stood close, pointing out the different parts Finn had made, how he did it, how long it had taken. Hiccup listened carefully, beginning to understand how the technique worked, how it had been done.

“I suggested the vine - they used to cover Finn’s house in the summer, remember?”

Stoick nodded before turning to Hiccup, still holding one of the discs. “Here, son, let’s see how this works.”

Hiccup stood still as his father draped the length of fur over his right shoulder, keeping his left arm free should he need it. Stoick frowned as he wrapped the extra length, then secured it to Hiccup’s shirt with one of the discs by sliding the pin carefully through the fur, then through his shirt fabric.

“The other one can go at his hip, or on the opposite shoulder, like yours.” Gobber had taken a step back, and winked at Hiccup from behind Stoick’s shoulder.

“Aye. Good, good.” Stoick adjusted the fur with a serious expression that made Hiccup feel very small. His father hadn’t dressed him since he’d been very young… and when he’d been recovering from The Great Battle. It was still embarrassing.

But with a brisk economy of movement, Stoick finished arranging the fur and the shields and stepped back. His expression of pride, so entirely focused on him, made Hiccup stand straighter even as his stomach clenched into a tight knot. Scorn he knew well what to do with, though he didn’t see it often. Pride was much more frequent these days, and it was still a wonder and a bit of a mystery.

“Well, Stoick? What do ye think?”

“Well done, Gobber. Well done.”

Gobber winked at Hiccup again, a wide grin on his face showing all his teeth.

Hiccup felt his neck turn red. Gobber had orchestrated all of this for him. “Thanks, Gobber. I owe you one.”

“Ach, don’t be ridiculous. Ye do not. I’m offended to think of it. Just don’t lose them. They’re irreplaceable, those two.”

“Aye.” Stoick moved to the table and opened the chest that stored the other ceremonial items. “Best we keep them here, if ye don’t mind, Gobber. Keep them together?”

“Oh, certainly. What else ye got in there, Stoick?”

They dug through the small chest, pulling out knives, rolls of parchment with faded and torn edges, arrows and larger swords, reminiscing about each and the stories attached to them. Hiccup looked down at himself, adjusting the length of fur that was now held to his right shoulder, falling close to his body, down to his left hip before winding up and around his back. It wasn’t dangling to his knees with the shields holding it in place, and the shields didn’t weigh too much or compromise his balance, either. It was perfect… as perfect as old ceremonial items got, anyway.

“Remember the fight we got into over making this one?” Stoick tossed an axe into the air.

Gobber laughed, ducking away. “Aye.” Then he turned. “Ye alright there, Hiccup?”

“Aye,” Hiccup replied absently, adjusting the metal.

The answering silence made him look up. Stoick’s mouth was hidden by his fist and Gobber was grinning like someone had told him a joke. “What?”

“Nothing, son. Nothing at all.”

Gobber nodded. “We should pack this up - especially if ye want to go to the springs, Hiccup. Lots to do tonight.”

Stoick’s voice became low and firm. The chief was speaking, not his dad. “Almost forgot - I need you to set up a patrol in all directions, see if ye spot any ships ye don’t recognize heading toward Berk.”

Hiccup unpinned the shields and unwound the fur, then placed it in the chest, resting the two shields on top. “Trouble?”

Stoick shook his head. “Doubt it, but it never hurts. Can you assign the riders?”

Hiccup nodded. “Sure, absolutely. But Gobber -“

“Oh, I’ll be fine, lad, don’t ye worry. I’ve seen just about every weapon in Berk at this point. Anything brought now isn’t worth sharpening. Ye go patrol, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

They didn’t glance at one another, but Hiccup had the feeling they were again saying things he couldn’t hear.

But he didn’t argue. It had been way too long since he’d flown out for miles over the water, and suddenly it was the only thing he wanted to do.

He ran upstairs to grab his bag, drying cloth, and soap, then went to find Toothless.


	31. Flying in Every Direction

That evening, as the sun started its halfhearted attempt to reach the horizon, Hiccup spread the word that all riders were needed at the academy for patrol. Within an hour, Fishlegs, Snotlout, the twins, and Astrid were gathering supplies and checking their saddles, enthusiastic and ready to go.

“I am loving this plan,” Snotlout said, tightening his saddle. “Anything to get away from here. There are too many people around.”

“Agreed.” The suggestive purr of Ruffnut’s reply made Snotlout turn white, then very red, but Tuffnut spoke before he could say anything.

“We have orders, H?”

“Yup. From the chief - all directions. Identify any ships you see, and if there are any you don’t recognize, note the sail, direction, and number, then report back.”

“Any need to intimidate?” Snotlout’s voice was eager.

“No,” Hiccup replied, his voice sharp. “Recon only, do not engage.”

“Ugh, come on, Hiccup.”

“Sorry, chief’s orders. We want to make sure we know everyone who’s coming to the feast, not blow anyone out of the water.”

“Can’t we at least-“

“No.” Hiccup and Astrid spoke in perfectly timed unison. Snotlout scoffed, but didn’t argue.

“So, Ruff, Tuff, you head north.”

“Snotlout is with us,” Ruffnut yelled. Before anyone could say anything to the contrary, Barf and Belch took off, and after a moment of confused hesitation, Snotlout and Hookfang leaped into the air to follow them.

Hiccup frowned. “That was… unexpected.”

“Or completely expected,” Fishlegs said with a grin. “I’ll go west?”

“Yeah, but I don’t want you to go alone.”

“I’ll go with Fishlegs,” Astrid said, pulling herself onto Stormfly’s back.

Hiccup nodded, ignoring the slight curl of disappointment in his chest. It was safer for Fishlegs to fly with another rider, given Meatlug’s minimal airspeed. But he didn't necessarily want to fly by himself, either.

Fishlegs finished checking Meatlug’s saddle, then climbed onto her back. “Meet back here?”

“Yeah.” Hiccup shaded his eyes to look up at Fishlegs. “I’ll go east, then fly south to cover that direction, so you’ll all beat me back here.”

Fishlegs nodded, then he and Meatlug lifted off into the air.

Hiccup didn’t know what to say, but he looked at Astrid and tried to find words anyway. He wanted to fly with her, even though it was more important for everyone to be safe, and he could handle the responsibility on his own. He’d probably beat Meatlug back to Berk, if he and Toothless flew at top speed. He'd wanted to fly, but now, he was disappointed to fly alone.

He rubbed his hand through his hair, still damp from the baths, which had been overly crowded with vikings. He was exhausted. It wasn’t like he and Astrid hadn’t flown apart a hundred times already, but after the day he’d had in the forge, then for searching for this cave his dad had told him existed but that he couldn’t find, he’d have welcomed the chance just to fly alongside her, even if they didn’t have time to talk.

But Astrid’s smile said everything he was thinking. He watched her fly out of the academy before he climbed into his own saddle and headed in the opposite direction.

 

…

 

The air was warm, but flying at high speeds brought a chill that made Astrid glad she’d thought to wear her armor and an extra layer. Meatlug wasn’t the fastest dragon, but as they moved higher into the sky and the view toward the horizon increased, the colder it became.

“See anything, Fishlegs?”

“Nope, nothing out of the ordinary at all. No ships except for ours, and they’re all headed back to Berk.”

“Let’s head this way for a few more minutes, then turn back.”

“Agreed.”

They flew alongside each other, Stormfly coasting on available currents to follow Meatlug’s slower pace, close enough to talk but not so close Stormfly couldn’t stretch her wings.

“Ready for the wedding, Fishlegs?” Astrid grinned. “Tired of people asking you that?”

Fishlegs laughed. “Yes, and yes. It’s exhausting, everything going on in my house.”

“Mine, too. I swear, we have enough food to feed every viking in the archipelago twice. And no, I’m not cooking any of it,” she added.

“Aw, come on. Your spice drops were excellent. Your aunt brought us some. I hope there’s more.”

Astrid was embarrassed that her cheeks flushed at Fishleg’s compliment, but she thanked him anyway. “There are plenty more. Sigrid keeps giving me piles of dough to roll when she isn’t having me chop nineteen barrels of fruit.”

“Can't you use your axe?”

Astrid’s laugh bounced across the water below them, and Fishlegs smiled. “No, but that is a thought. More efficient, but really messy.”

“My mother has been talking about you and Sigrid and all the cooking for days. I think she wants to make you something special to thank you for all the work you're doing.”

“Aw, she doesn’t have to do that.” Astrid looked over at Fishlegs with a shrug. “It’s part of hosting a big wedding. And this is a _big wedding._ ”

“It really is. My mom is nervous about the rest of her clan coming, too.”

“Nervous? Why?”

“I don’t know. She gets all agitated and starts knotting extra fast whenever someone brings it up, and doesn’t want to talk about it at all.”

“That seems strange. You’d think she’d be excited to see her family.”

Fishlegs shrugged. “Yeah. Maybe it’s wedding nerves? She’s not nervous about marrying Hoark, so she’s nervous about this instead?”

“Maybe,” Astrid replied, unconvinced.

They banked in a wide arc and headed back to Berk by mutual agreement. Somehow, the journey home always seemed to take less time than the journey away, and soon they were spotting the familiar landmarks on the way to the island.

“Astrid, you should fly south, see if you spot Hiccup.”

Astrid looked at him, confused.

“He’s alone, and I’ll be fine from here to Berk. If he spotted something, he might need backup.”

Astrid stared at Fishlegs, her face skeptical. “Hiccup. Need backup. While flying on Toothless.”

Fishlegs grinned openly at her, his expression teasing. “Ok, fine, be that way. Astrid, you should go fly south because Hiccup would be delighted to see you.”

Again, she looked away, embarrassment heating her face, impossible to suppress. But she nodded. “Thanks, Fishlegs.”

He shook his head at her and flew toward Berk as she guided Stormfly south. 

“Women,” he muttered to himself. “Except you, Meatlug. You’re perfect.”

Meatlug’s answering happy growl and wiggle made him laugh.

 

…

 

Sound moved across the water in strange ways, and Astrid caught the edge of Fishleg’s laughter as Stormfly increased her speed. She didn’t think he was laughing at her, but she didn’t turn her head to check, either. Flying with anyone, including Meatlug, was fun, but flying fast and low across the water, something Meatlug couldn’t really do, made her heart race. Knowing she was flying toward Hiccup meant her heartbeat was even faster, and the mix of anticipation and adrenaline made her urge Stormfly on.

“Faster, girl, let’s go!”

With an eager squawk, Stormfly lowered her head, tucked her legs and claws, and became an arrow of speed shooting across the sea, leaving jagged waves and sliced water behind her. 

There was nothing better for clearing her head than flying so fast her eyes watered. She wasn’t stressed, really, but after the intensity of the time she’d last spent with Hiccup, spending the day away from him, away from nearly everyone, in the hot, food-focused chaos of her home, had left her restless and a little tense. The air pressing against her face, the droplets of water, the sound of their flight speed blew some of that tension away.

Knowing she was looking for Hiccup, that they’d fly together, that helped a little, too. He had something to talk to her about. It had seemed like it, anyway. Was she still able to read him like she always had, or was her own anticipation, her own… feelings getting in the way, obscuring the clarity with which she usually saw through any of Hiccup’s attempts to conceal information?

They sped south for a long stretch of time, long enough for the sun to have moved in the sky, though the temperature hadn’t changed. She directed Stormfly up away from the sharp, cooling spray of the sea so she could look for Hiccup. It was mostly clear and the sun was still at enough of a high angle to illuminate everything in front of her, so a dark Night Fury against the water should be easy to spot, but she didn’t see any movement no matter what direction she looked.

Astrid scanned the horizon again. “Do you see them, Stormfly? Where’d they go?”

Stormfly cocked her head, listening and sniffing the air, since her eyesight wasn’t the strongest. Then she pivoted in the air, tilting her wings as she changed directions slightly and brought them closer to the water, then sped up toward a low bank of clouds in the distance.

“Are they over there? Good girl, Stormfly.”

Stormfly chirped at her, and together they sped across the sea, Stormfly following a trail that Astrid couldn’t see. Her dragon’s certainty and the confidence with which she tilted and flew was enough to convince Astrid that Stormfly was right. 

Below her, she saw a shifting movement in the water. With a gasp, she pulled on Stormfly’s saddle. “Up, Stormfly, now!”

Just as they lifted away from the waves, a massive sea dragon crested out of the water beneath them, diving in a low arc across the choppy waves before splashing down into the blue darkness below.

“What _was_ that? A Tide Glider?”

Stormfly shook her quills, squawking in indignant irritation. She circled slowly over the white water left behind by the sea dragon, then flew off again, this time making sure she left enough distance between the surface and her body so she wouldn’t get hit if another dragon crested above the waves.

“That dragon was huge.” Stormfly’s low chirp was entirely in agreement.

Then Astrid heard a low roar from across the water, and looked around. Another Tide Glider leaped from the waves ahead of them, its wings, or fins, maybe, forming two arches above the surface before it slid beneath the waves with barely a splash. Then another appeared, and another, an endless pattern of waves and arching dragons breaking the surface around them.

“I’ve never seen so many together, have you?”

Stormfly’s answer was a doubtful tilt of her head and an alert, cautious rattle of her quills. Astrid tried to count them but couldn’t keep track with the relentless rhythm of different dragons cutting over the surface then diving back down. No matter the number, that many Tide Gliders together did seem pretty strange. She should tell Hiccup.

Astrid sat back in her saddle with an abrupt huff of laughter. Everything circled back to Hiccup. If she didn’t talk to him at least once a day, it was weirder than a thousand Tide Gliders. She hadn’t spoken to him other than the brief moment at the academy before they left, and now the mix of curiosity and anticipation was mixed with a more direct urgency to speak with him.

“You think Toothless and Hiccup know what’s going on with the Tide Gliders? Where are they, girl?”

With two mighty flaps of her wings, Stormfly pressed into the air above them with such force and speed that Astrid was pushed down toward her saddle as her dragon lifted them into the air, then sped again toward the clouds that seemed to huddle on the horizon, leaving the pod of Tide Gliders behind. Soon they flew fast enough that Astrid’s eyes began to sting again.

“Have we been out this far before?”

Stormfly didn’t answer, but Astrid knew anyway. She loved to patrol to the south, looking for that moment where the air against her face seemed a little warmer, a little softer, especially during the grey frost of winter whenever everything was bleak and cold. But she usually followed a different route, one that headed southeast toward Eel Island before looping in a wide arc toward Changewing Island, then back to Berk.

They’d passed Changewing Island already, and it was barely visible when Astrid looked back over her shoulder. The undulation of the waves and the Tide Gliders were also a rolling smudge on the water in the distance. Stormfly’s speed was a wondrous thing.

Astrid lowered her body over Stormfly’s back and leaned slightly to the left, looking over her dragon’s shoulder toward the bank of clouds that was her target. The sea was a blur beneath them, the air slicing over them both as Stormfly flew like an arrow toward her target.

Then, a shout in a familiar voice caught Astrid’s attention.

“Stormfly - where…”

But she didn’t need to say anything. Stormfly’s hearing was better than hers, and she’d already tilted toward the source of the sound, which Astrid couldn’t pinpoint. Sound traveled so strangely over water.

Then, she saw them. A slice of darkness ahead of them in the distance. She could see the faint trail they’d left in the water, flying low enough to slice the surface of the waves. It was broken and uneven, a faint trace of white foam on the surface that ended abruptly, then started again, as if Toothless was skipping across the water like a stone on the pond.

The waves broke again beneath them. More Tide Gliders, another group traveling together. Were they heading off to lay eggs? Did they breed in the summer when most dragons bred mid-winter?

A long neck crested ahead of them, just beyond the dark shadow that was Toothless and Hiccup. Astrid suddenly understood the trail they’d left behind in the water. They were flying straight over the rolling curves of the surf and the dragons within it, leaping over cresting Tide Gliders and around Scauldrons, rolling into the water just enough to make Hiccup yell, that sound of shock and laughter that had skipped across the ocean toward her.

Toothless was fast - the fastest dragon she’d ever seen. Stormfly could reach speeds that turned her eyes and mouth dry and left her barely able to blink or swallow. She was flying incredibly quickly at that moment, as fast as she’d ever traveled.

And yet, between one blink and the next, Toothless and Hiccup disappeared.

He was gone.

There was no trail, no white foam on the water, no sign of which way they went.

“He needs to show us how to do that,” Astrid muttered. Stormfly chirped a reply that, after a moment of thought, sounded like the vocal equivalent of an eye roll. _I already know how to do that._

Astrid was suddenly very impatient and even more frustrated. After spending so much of the day apart, knowing he was close, she craved his presence, the touch of his hand, the chance to lean against him for a moment, knowing he would give her space and silence in which to rest. She didn’t have anything urgent to say beyond asking about all the dragons in the water and demanding to know how he figured out who to fly beneath water dragon wings, but she wanted to talk to him for longer than it took to ask questions. It wasn’t like the times she’d flown toward him, frustrated and angry, knowing he’d listen and help her sort her jangled thoughts and emotions into a calmer, more manageable order. This time, she didn’t need to speak with him about anything in particular; she needed to speak and know that he’d listen, that he always waited for her to share what was in her mind, what she didn’t share with anyone else. 

She wanted time with him, just him. Right now.

Where did he _go?_

There weren’t any islands here that she knew of. The clusters of low clouds that had seemed like one mass on the horizon pulled slowly apart in the mild breeze as they flew toward them. There was no trace of Hiccup, or of Toothless. Where had they gone? Dear Gods, did they crash into the water?

She looked, scanning the shifting surface for any sign of splashing or impact. Nothing.

“Stormfly, do you know where they went?”

Another squawk, just as much sass contained within it, but Stormfly didn’t alter her trajectory or drop out of the sky to chase Hiccup and Toothless. She stayed exactly where she was, wings out, gliding like a knife through the sky towards the clouds ahead. Was she ignoring Astrid? Refusing to let her follow where Hiccup and Toothless had gone?

“Stormfly. We aren’t doing this again, are we?”

No answer, not even a rattle of quills.

“Did my mother give you more instructions?”

Stormfly gave no response.

Astrd sighed in frustration. “Stormfly. You can’t… I don’t…” She pressed her lips together and grumbled in frustration. “Stormfly. Please?”

Stormfly dove straight down, nearly vertical, and the ocean rose to meet Astrid, her heart icing over with a moment of fear.

Just before impact, Stormfly arched her body and swept low over the surface, the breaking waves splashing Astrid’s legs from beneath Stormily’s wings.

“You _do_ know where they went.”

Another chirp, this one happy, eager.

Her dragon was so weird.

They flew around and under low clinging strands of fog, and Astrid reached up to run her fingers through the mist she couldn’t feel but split beneath her touch nonetheless. Then Stormfly shifted, lifting them up into the air again.

“Are you looking for them, or do you actually know where they went?”

There was no reply. Stormfly flew directly into a thick cloud, a mass of fog like a cloak across the water, and Astrid instinctively ducked into her saddle, shying away from the curls of mist instead of reaching for them.

Where was Stormfly taking her?

“Where are we?”

A louder squawk was answered by an unmistakeable growl that moved through the fog from every direction. She couldn’t figure out where the sound had come from, though she knew exactly who it was.

“Toothless?”

Another roar, this time louder, gave her a direction, but Stormfly didn’t need any help. She knew where she was going - which was a good thing since Astrid couldn’t see anything aside from grey mist. There were no shadows or spindly branches of trees below or above her. The mist had no dimension, no depth. It was everywhere, and with no variation in density, it was frighteningly disorienting.

Suddenly Stormfly twisted to the left to avoid a large rock that appeared in front of them without warning.

Astrid called into the murky cloud. “Toothless, can you guide us in?”

“Astrid?”

Hiccup? Where was his voice coming from?

“Hiccup! How do I land?”

A flash of pale light appeared to her right.


	32. Safer Landings

Astrid heard Hiccup’s voice, but she couldn’t pinpoint exactly where he was. The murmur of his voice surrounded her like the fog that Toothless was trying to help them navigate. Stormfly tilted her head, seeming equally unsure.

“Again, bud. Lower.” She might not be able to tell where he was, but she could hear that his voice was strained, like when he called for Snotlout to hit a target and wasn’t sure he could coach him through doing so.

Another flash - brighter this time. To the right. Stormfly didn’t need instructions or direction from Astrid. She dove toward the flash. It was a relief to let Stormfly navigate, because she couldn’t see anything. Just clouds and shadows in thickening waves.

But her dragon knew what to do, knew how to find a place to land and make sure she and Astrid were both protected, to fly toward the safety and guidance of those she trusted.

The bottom of the fog released them both, and a split second later, Stormfly reached out her claws and grabbed for the surface of a long, flat rise at the top of a small hill. Astrid looked around before she dismounted. The fog, a blanket of grey shadows, sat just above her head, and in front of her lay a slight valley, mostly rock and shrubbery with some patches of grass reaching toward a small pool of water. The pond surface reflected the fog that covered the sky, turning the liquid into a bleak mirror, smooth and silver.

Hiccup and Toothless had been waiting halfway down the rise, but when Stormfly’s claws grabbed onto the grass and brought them to a lurching stop, Hiccup turned and ran back up the incline, Toothless leaping beside him. “What are you guys doing here? Is there trouble?”

Reaching up for her hand, Hiccup helped her climb down. She didn’t need help - she never needed help. She could jump to her feet on the back of her saddle and slide down Stormfly’s wing if she had to. But she put her hand in his without hesitation, and didn’t let go once her feet were on the ground.

“No, no trouble.” She spoke around her racing heart and the uneven rhythm of her breathing, trying to find equilibrium. “Fishlegs and I finished our patrol and he told - well, I figured I’d come find you.”

Hiiccup’s small, quiet smile lit her from inside. Fishlegs had been right. Not that she’d doubted it. 

“I’m glad you’re here.”

How did he _do_ that, say things like that without fear? Without sounding… so stilted or unsure, the way she did when she tried to explain her feelings with words? Maybe the fear that had surrounded her in the fog was still with her, but she couldn’t calm her mind. Her thoughts were flying in every direction, leaving her unable to tell him how she felt, relieved to be on land, and soaring again that she held his hand and they were together, and alone, on….

Astrid looked around.

“Where is ‘here?’ What is this place?”

“Mananann’s Island.”

“Which is what, exactly? And where?”

Hiccup shrugged. “Southeast of Changewing, sort of. It was on an old map I found in my dad’s papers. I think it’s always covered with fog. At least, I’ve never seen it from the sky without it.”

“You’ve been here before?”

He nodded.

Astrid reached up and grabbed her axe off the back of her saddle. They started walking together down the incline toward the pond, her fingers curled tight around his. “Is it safe?”

Again, he shrugged. “I've never seen any dragons or anything to worry about. Toothless seems relaxed when we stop here, anyway.”

Stormfly flew over her head to land next to Toothless, who was having a drink. “You come here often? It’s like over an hour’s flying time.”

He nodded. “Yeah, it’s not convenient, but on patrols, if we need a break, we sometimes stop here.”

Stormfly greeted Toothless, lifting her head and her beak and shaking her quills. He barked at her, shaking his head so his fringes danced.

“How many times have you been here?”

“Not many. I left some supplies over by the trees there.” Hiccup gestured with his other hand before rubbing the top of his head in agitation.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

He wasn’t entirely telling the truth. She could tell. But she didn’t press him. She kept her hand in his and walked around the perimeter of the pond.

“Ever seen anyone else here?” Were they alone?

He shook his head. “No signs of anyone, no fires, no claw marks or footprints. We check before we land, and I never see any indication that someone’s been here.”

“Maybe no one knows there’s an island here beneath all that fog.”

Astrid’s mind sped through strategy as she looked around them. The low, grey clouds covering the island hovered above their heads. Only diffused, muted light penetrated from the sun to reach them. The air was warm,heavy on her skin, and there was no breeze to ruffle the needles on the pines that grew along the other side of the pond. The hill behind them where Stormfly had landed appeared to be the tallest part of the small island, but she couldn’t see the edges to effectively gauge how big of an island it was.

Stormfly and Toothless were chirping and growling at each other as they pushed each other playfully on the slope of grass that formed the western side of the island. If that was the west. There was no sun to pinpoint direction, or landmarks visible beyond the fog to help her orient herself.

Both dragons drank some more water, then wandered to a grassy spot by the pond to stretch out. Toothless preferred rock, since he could fire at it and heat it up, but the air was thick and heavy with a dewy warmth already, so both dragons spread their wings out as they made themselves comfortable.

Hiccup yawned, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. “Sorry.”

“Working hard today?”

He nodded, rubbing the top of his head again, his gait uneven. “Up early, and spent most of the day in the forge. You?”

“Same, only in my house by the fire, cooking more food than I want to think about.”

His smile was sleepy, and she led him over to where Toothless and Stormfly were curled opposite one another. She greeted Toothless, running her hand over his head to his cheek so that he purred at her, and asked if she could lean against him.

In response, Toothless rolled to one side and lifted his wing a little, creating a darker shelter alongside his body. She sat down and pulled Hiccup down next to her.

He leaned back against Toothless, tilting his face up toward the sky they couldn’t see. Astrid quickly unlaced her shoulder armor and pushed it into the grass at their feet along with her axe, then curled into his side. Without opening his eyes, he put his arm around her.

She rested her head on his shoulder, her hand drifting across his stomach. Her fingers traced the texture and pattern of his flight armor.

“So what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I-“

“Hiccup.”

His sigh was two answers in one breath. His body, which he’d held somewhat tense and stiff beside her since they’d sat down, relaxed as he exhaled, and for a moment she felt like she was sinking into him, being welcomed into the shelter of his body beneath Toothless’ wing. But the frustration she’d heard meant that something was bothering him.

“I could tickle you until you tell me.”

He tensed again.

“But I won’t. Will you tell me what’s wrong?”

He took one slow breath, then another. She waited, but not patiently.

Thinking of Stormfly and of Toothless, she smiled as she spoke. “Please?”

He laughed, a short huff of sound, and his arm tightened around her shoulders.

“Hang on.” Astrid sat up. The closeness of their bodies, and the heavy press of humid air made her uncomfortable, and she rose to her knees to detach and unwind some of the layers she’d worn for flying. Her fur-lined hood and long-sleeved overshirt landed on top of her armor.

She curled back into his body. “Better. Okay. Continue telling me what you’re not telling me.”

This time his laugh was genuine. The sound surrounded her inside the curve of Toothless’ broad black wing, but unlike the disorienting, sourceless tone within the fog, she knew where he was, where to find him. In both cases his voice brought her toward him, and she tucked her head against his chin, waiting and listening.

“I had to try on the stink fur today.”

“Ugh. I know how you feel about that thing.”

“Yeah. Not my favorite.”

“Still just as bad? Smelly and overly long?”

He nodded. “Still smelly, yes, and still too long. But better.”

She turned her head and looked up at him, resting her chin on his shoulder. She could count the freckles on his cheek, even the tiny ones that were barely visible. She could see the tiny lines near his eyes now that he was relaxed and smiling a little, and could count them, too, if she wished. But what she wanted was for Hiccup to keep talking. “Better? How? What did you do?”

“Not me. Gobber.”

He shifted beside her, moving his prosthesis away but moving himself closer to her. He leaned into her as she did to him, and she moved her hand across his chest to pull him toward her by a fraction more.

“You know the shield?”

“The one Finn made? Of course.”

“Yeah. Did you know he made two small ones as practice?”

Her eyes widened, and she smiled. “No, I didn’t know that. I had no idea.”

“Yeah, me neither. Gobber had them somewhere in the forge, and, I don’t know, maybe after I was complaining about the… everything, he figured out a way to fix the fur without cutting it, using the shields to pin it on.”

“Huh. So it fits better?”

Hiccup shrugged with one shoulder, not the one she was using as a pillow. “In some ways, yeah. But I still hate wearing it.”

She nodded. They’d had this conversation before, and she didn’t need to repeat what she’d already said a dozen or more times. He wasn’t comfortable with even the thought of being chief, and she knew he’d be great at it. He’d deny it, and she’d explain why he was wrong, but she wouldn’t get anywhere. He usually didn’t listen to her arguments, or just fell silent so she’d stop trying to convince him. He couldn’t hear her, even if she was yelling at him about it.

He turned his head to look at her, and his half smile and the relaxed pleasure on his face sent sparks flying through her chest. “What about you? How was your day?”

She told him about Sigrid, the things they’d made, the gossip she heard from all the women who came to bring food and bowls and supplies. Nothing earth shattering or crucial, but Astrid found herself unwinding, too, relaxing into a deeper peace as she let all the conflicting little ideas and thoughts out of her head, knowing that he listened and wanted to hear her.

She ran her palm across his chest, feeling the even rhythm of his breathing, the faint tempo of his heartbeat. He didn’t seem agitated or stiff with tension anymore.

This was what she had wanted when she’d flown away from him, and then after him, Stormfly tracking the faint trace of his path until they landed together. She’d wanted time and quiet to be with him where he listened, where she could hear what he said, and listen to the space between his words and the space between them.

Things were different with him, she thought as she fell silent, temporarily out of words but not willing to move away. But they were still the same, too. There was this other tension, new and _delicious_ tension, but it existed alongside the comforting familiarity of their laughter, the quiet conversations that shifted and flowed when they had time together. Different and the same. New and deeply familiar.

His breathing became deep and even, and listened, drawing in the scent of him, the feel of his flight leather beneath her hand, beneath her cheek. His hair brushed against her forehead, and her breathing began to follow his. She closed her eyes, just for a moment.

Things between them were… more, not less.

And better.

 

…

 

 

Hiccup woke up first, disoriented.

Sleeping against Toothless was normal, as was finding the curve of a wing close over his head, usually an indication that Toothless had fallen asleep, too, and had unconsciously lowered it while he snoozed.

But Astrid was with him. Next to him, curled into his body, deeply asleep in the warm shadows.

That was new.

They’d napped before, but rarely alone, just the two of them. Sometimes with everyone on a patrol or a longer trip away from Berk, they’d take a break and rest the dragons and themselves, but that was a loud, sometimes snoring group of people. Naps were commonplace, even in the academy - and especially for Tuffnut. Sleep during the warmth of endless summer afternoons, was always welcome.

Finding himself waking up with Astrid nestled against him, her soft, even breaths ruffling the hair and the braid at the nape of his neck, that was rare, and was even more welcome.

He closed his eyes, trying to memorize that moment through the remnants of sleep that clouded his mind. Her hand was wrapped around his side, holding onto him, and her leg was resting on top of his. The light through the fog moved over her shoulder armor and the blade of her axe, turning them to an almost liquid silver in the grass by their feet. The shirt she wore was soft and warm beneath his arm. His hand rested on the curve of her hip, and, if he turned his head just a little, his cheek rested against her hair, above her kransen.

He breathed in slowly, the scent of pine and mist from the ocean mixing with the subtle scent of her hair, the familiar and the new mixing in his mind in a way that was almost painful to him.

He wanted to wake up like this for the rest of his life.

Every morning. Starting… yesterday. He wanted this like he wanted to fly, like he wanted to explore. He could reach further and further into the horizon, he and Toothless, and part of him yearned to keep going, to keep flying, keep exploring and discovering lands he’d never seen, islands hidden within cloaks of fog, beyond the edges of the water.

But just as much, he wanted to stay where he was, to freeze this moment and hold onto it, to disappear into the stillness and tranquility that was being next Astrid, having her leaning into him, reaching across his body and holding onto him the way he held onto her. He didn’t want to leave that space, no matter how tempting the horizon might be.

Here, there was no horizon. He could barely see the trees across the pond, and couldn’t see the boundaries of the island at all. The darkness beneath Toothless’ wing, the places where her body touched his, the gentle sound of her breathing was the island he most wanted to explore, the home he didn’t recognize but never wanted to leave.

Slowly, his awareness increased, and with it his discomfort. He needed to shift his leg, and his shirt had become bunched up beneath his flight armor, leaving his skin irritated and throbbing a little. Looking at the trees made him recognize other discomforts, and with a small sigh he realized he had to move.

He slowly shifted away from Astrid, sliding his arm out from under and around her, and carefully bringing her head to rest against Toothless’ belly. She frowned but didn’t wake up. Instead she moved her hand away from him and curled into herself, bringing her knees up, turning closer to Toothless.

Hiccup stared at her for a moment, caught between necessity and desire. In sleep, her face was entirely relaxed, and while he missed the blue sparks and shifts of light in her eyes and the way her expression could go from curious to teasing in a blink, he didn’t want to miss a second of being able to look at her, observing her closely, when she couldn’t see him staring.

His mind cataloged the features he normally didn’t have the opportunity to examine in attentive detail. She had freckles across her nose. He counted them, noted their position in the tiny galaxy of her face. Her eyelashes cast a slight shadow on her cheeks, and her eyebrows were several shades darker than her hair, which lightened to a silver white in the summer.

Even though she couldn’t see him, he smiled at her. He wanted this moment where he watched her sleep, and he wanted to be greedy about it, both in lengthening this instant, and in wishing for it every morning, every night in the future.

Maybe someday, though a curl of cold doubt crept into his stomach. Astrid had made it clear in subtle but increasingly unmistakable ways that the idea of marriage, of the public proclamation and betrothal, was….

He frowned. He didn’t know what it was for her, but it wasn’t good. 

When he was no longer able to ignore the many discomforts that demanded he move, Hiccup stood quietly, making sure not to disturb Toothless, Stormfly, or Astrid. He crept out from beneath Toothless’ wing, careful not to brush his hair against the sensitive underside that was otherwise an excellent place to tickle a dragon, if one wished to do so. He wouldn’t advise it, though, he thought with a smile.

Before he headed down the slope toward the copse of trees, he moved to one of his saddlebags and, without disturbing Toothless, pulled out a skin of water. He started making his way toward the pines, but had to stop and look behind him. Stormfly and Toothless surrounded Astrid, curled into sleep in an uneven but protective circle. He felt a burning warmth in the center of his chest, and his mind grabbed onto the image, capturing and embedding it into his memory. He knew he’d draw it later, probably multiple versions. He’d probably see this picture in his head as he fell asleep some nights. Most nights.

Rubbing the heel of his hand over his chest, he turned and walked down the gentle slope. The fog had lowered, the cloud descending to cover them more intimately, giving him the odd sensation that he stood not on the edge, but the top of the earth, two steps below the sky.

After relieving himself, he wandered through the trees, his unbuckled flight armor in his hands. It was a lengthy set of connected pieces, more or less, and he’d had to peel it off to realign his shirt. The air was humid and there was no breeze, which meant he was sweaty, and the shirt and leggings he wore beneath it were damp and stuck to him. He wasn’t relishing putting his armor back on, so he opened the buckles and attachments and hung it from a low branch.

He didn’t have a set path through the pines, so he wandered in random circles, drinking sips of water and looking at the needles that brushed over his hair, wondering how old the trees were. They reached into the fog, tall enough that the tops disappeared into the mist. Were there any dragons that lived near the tops, high beyond where he could see? He didn’t hear anything, and Toothless would have reacted if he’d sensed another dragon or more than one. But he imagined what kind of dragon would live in cloudy treetops anyway. Maybe a terror, or something that size. Big claws, to hold on to the thin trunks that would bend and sway in any breeze that disturbed them. Long, narrow wings to grab the wind and slide from one treetop to another.

He was looking up into the cloud that had come down around them when he heard footsteps moving closer.


	33. Awake and Unwinding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We begin a few NSFW updates now, mes amis. Merci for your comments!

Astrid appeared a moment later, emerging with a shy smile and sleepy eyes from between the trees and fringes of mist that surrounded them both.

“Afternoon, milady. I think.”

“You think?”

“Could be closer to evening. Hard to tell.”

She didn’t stop until she’d wrapped her arms around him, slid into his embrace the way she had when they’d fallen asleep. She leaned her head against his shoulder, and he pulled her tight against his body. “I think the sun is still up. It has to be.”

He smiled, then allowed himself to kiss the top of her hair. He wanted this too much, the moments where both of them were without armor, sleepy and relaxed. Her closeness had soothed the ragged exhaustion that had followed him out onto patrol, and he wanted to mover closer, to bring more of her body in contact with his. 

Her eyes were closed. He watched her face, the subtle movements that taught him the difference between quiet, asleep Astrid and quiet, awake Astrid. She was awake, and she was thinking about something. “Want some water?”

Her eyes opened, and the pale blue of them made him draw in a short breath. “Yes, please.”

She tipped her head and drank. He shook his head at his fascination with her throat, the line of her neck, the way her mouth moved. He’d probably try to draw that later, too. He had a lineup of images crowding his mind. He might have to make more pencils for himself to sketch them all, get them out of his head. Though having these pictures, these moments of time he never expected to have with Astrid, spinning through his imagination uncontrollably wasn’t too terrible, either.

She handed the water skin back to him, and he let it hang from his free hand as they stood together, pressed in a line of warmth and comfort, looking up at the low fog and the trees.

“I have no idea what time it is,” she said quietly. She scanned the horizon, the pattern of her defensive habits as familiar to him as the scent of her hair. She checked the sky, or what she could see of it, and the edges of the trees that weren’t being absorbed into the fog that moved soundlessly over their heads. The pines nearest them were becoming fuzzy, the sharp edged colors of the bark becoming muted. It really was like a giant cloud descended over them, a blanket of mist and white sliding through the trees.

Hiccup felt her body tense for a moment, one foot sliding back to a slight crouch. She looked over her shoulder toward the pond where the dragons were still sleeping - or so he thought. He couldn’t see them, but he didn’t hear anything, either.

“I think they’re still asleep,” he said, looking over her head in the same direction.

“Yeah.” Then she took a slow breath.

Her posture relaxed, the tension and alertness dissolving into the fog beyond the nearest trees. She shifted closer, the side of her body sliding in a heated edge against his, a knife of softness and desire.

They were alone. And hidden, increasingly concealed by the low, grey cloud that was determinedly feasting on the trees, the ground, the landmarks around them.

It was his turn to be alert. No doubt Astrid had the same realization he did, but that knowledge, their isolation, it seemed to relax her. Hiccup had to talk to himself, remind himself to remain calm, to breathe evenly.

To breathe at all.

He wanted… he didn’t know what he wanted first. He wanted everything. New images flooded his mind, competing with the pictures of tranquil intimacy he’d just seen. Images he’d witnessed, or imagined, or experienced, but in darkness so complete he only remembered touch and sound, and taste. 

Breathing smoothly was difficult. His brain was a riot of possibility.

Unsure of what to do with himself, he lifted the skin of water and drank, trying to calm his mind and his body so he could think somewhat rationally. When he finished and lowered the leather container, he found Astrid watching him, watching his throat, her eyes narrowed and her smile sharp with mischief.

He held her gaze as he used the length of rope to lower the skin to the grass beside him.

Her smile widened, but she didn’t move.

He usually waited for her to end the distance between him, or allowed uncertainty to give her the chance to move first, leaving her space and providing himself a boundary for her to venture across.

He wanted to wait, wanted to be greedy, savor again that miraculous moment when she moved into him, giving him a bare moment to prepare before she kissed him, grabbed his shirt, touched him in any way that never failed to knock his entire life off its foundation.

He usually waited for her to move first.

But he couldn’t. Not this time. 

He reached for her, sliding his free hand into her hair.

That’s when she leaped. She jumped, really. With only a fraction of space between their bodies, she found a way to run to him, grabbing his shirt and pulling herself closer.

But this time, he kissed her first, a rarity that sent cold wariness down his spine, but didn’t stop him. He leaned down and covered her mouth with his, surprising her for a moment before she responded. In battle, in sparring, in arguments, in exploring, and in desire, she matched him every time.

Desperate and ravenous, he slid both hands into her hair and slanted his mouth over hers. He needed to taste her more than he needed to fly, or drink, or breathe. Her mouth was soft, her lips moving over his in combat and acquiescence, taking and accepting, demanding more as he devoured her.

In the narrow fraction of air between their noses, their mouths, and their eyes, everything made sense. Focused solely on her, on the crackling fire that sparked within and between them, it made sense to move closer, to taste and stroke and consume as heat engulfed them both. His hands moved down her neck, finding her shoulders, her ribs, the rough fabric of her bindings that hid the curve beneath her breasts, before moving to the waistband of her skirt.

He skimmed his fingertips around her sides, pulling her shirt from beneath the spiked leather, running his thumbs over the warmth of her skin, tracing the contours of her muscles. She gasped into his mouth, and he wanted to taste that sound again.

“May I… can I….?” He swallowed, unable to speak for a moment.

Without a word, Astrid’s hands disappeared behind her. With brisk, efficient movements, she undid the clasp and let her skirt fall to the grass before she stepped out of it and kicked it aside.

Then she leaped back to where she’d been standing, pressing, circling her hips against his, a sensation usually obstructed by the impediment of metal spikes and thick leather. She pulled her body against his like she was planning to climb him toward the sky that shifted in grey wisps just above their heads. The clouds had crashed down around them soundlessly and they hadn’t noticed.

Again and again, he kissed her until their breathing quickened to gasps and shudders, and they reached a limit in moving toward one another. In trying to end any space between them as quickly as possible, they found they could not move any closer. Pressing, rubbing, and pulling each other built friction and desire, but didn’t bring them closer. They couldn’t move closer.

Except they could.

Hiccup banished that thought as soon as it appeared in his mind, but the scorching heat it left behind made him shudder. Her hands, cool and soft, slid beneath his shirt and up his sides, and he had to remind himself to keep his balance. The island was tilting beneath him. The world had begun to spin faster. Clouds were at his feet. The ocean was upside down by now. He was sure of it. 

His hands echoed hers, wanting to make the ground spin for her as well. His palms stroked firmly up the curve of her waist, making her gasp. His fingers followed the lower edge of her bindings, unsure of how or if to remove them.

A low frustrated sound made him stop, and pull back slightly.

Her expression, a mix of wanting and strategy, made fire roar deep in his belly. She looked at him the way she scouted the best route, plotted an attack, secured the perimeter of their location. Her eyes were wicked. It was intoxicating.

“Can we skip the sparring and go right to the prizes?”

He smiled, laughter circling inside him around the uncontrollable heat of desire, not dampening it but mixing it into something more potent, like mixing two molten metals into a compound that doubled their individual strengths. “Fine by me.”

“Excellent.” And she pulled at the hem of his shirt, lifting it quickly, barely giving him time to move his arms over his head before she removed it and tossed it into the grass.

Then her mouth found his, and her hands were everywhere, stroking over his chest, her fingernails scraping lightly, then with more pressure over his nipples, making him shudder.

Her eyes were open, and she watched his reaction.

“Not fair,” he whispered against her lips.

He was too close to see her smile, but he felt it against his mouth, and saw the mischief in the crinkle of her eyes.

“Point is yours, then.” Her voice was quiet as his had been, a wisp of sound that disappeared as she spread her palms flat against his skin and slid her hands down his chest.

Could he do this? Could he… ask, or even… take what he… do what he….

Breathing became impossible and he almost stepped back, almost shifted his weight and stepped away from her hands, broke the connection of her skin on his. But he stopped himself. Forced himself to breathe, once, then twice.

She watched him, concern and curiosity on her face, and wariness. She could probably read his expression as well as he could read hers, and knew that he might stop what was happening right now.

He didn’t want to stop.

But he didn’t strike as quickly as she had. He slid his fingertips to the hem of her shirt and pulled slowly until she raised her arms and helped him. When he threw the fabric aside, he heard it land, but he couldn’t see it. They were surrounded by grey fog, so heavy and thick it left droplets of water on their skin.

He traced the line of her shoulder, watching her face, studying her eyes, the shift of her expression, not seeing what his hand, his fingertips were doing. Mentally he plotted a route across her body, exploring her neck, the dip of her collarbone, the firm, beckoning contours of the muscles of her back, her sides.

He nearly lost his way when she slid her body sideways over his. The sensation of feeling her skin, of so much of her body against his was overwhelming and impossible to process. When he kissed her, more than just their mouths met. He was dizzy with trying to understand what he was feeling.

Then something scratched his chest and he flinched back, looking down.

Her bindings were dark fabric, wrapped tightly over her chest. The rough edge of a fold had creased in a way that made it sharp, almost. But seeing her bindings made his own chest ache to think of how uncomfortable it was to wear them.

His lips found hers again, feasting and teasing, while he followed with his fingertips the interwoven layers of fabric, smoothing the rough fold, and looking for the end.

Her hands slid up his chest again, then around his neck, bringing more of her skin in contact with his, spinning his awareness into fragments. He was following a piece of cloth that had no end, lost in an infinite cloud. Astrid’s skin had no horizon, no limit to what he could explore beneath his hands. He kissed her and carefully traced the strips of fabric around her body again and again, determined and curious. 

With an impatient, frustrated noise, Astrid stepped back and found the edge, tucked into the top of her bindings below her arm. She yanked it out and began unwrapping the fabric, her breathing uneven, her expression fierce.

Hiccup stopped her, his hands covering hers and stilling her frantic movements.

He brought her hands to his chest, then kissed her again as he took over. Gathering the loosened coil of cloth in one hand, he slid his other hand into her hair, fingers entwined in the loosened pattern of her braid, and held her still against him. Her fingertips curled, her nails pressing into his skin for a moment before she dove into him, into kissing him and exploring the contours of his shoulders, his arms, the curve of his chest.

Her touch was sure and eager, fast and gentle.

His hands were shaking. He hoped she didn’t notice. Their kisses flowed one into the other, a rising and falling tide of breathing and tasting, devouring and comforting, each unique and devastating to his internal stability.

Moving his lips over her face, he nudged her head back and scraped his teeth along her jaw, then kissed the line of her throat to her collarbone. He felt her tremble as he lightly bit the curve where her neck met her shoulder, then slid his open mouth over her neck again.

His hands slowly unwound the fabric covering her, unwrapping her in slow, determined circles. He gathered the length of fabric in one hand as he worked, uncovering her body from beneath the tight strips across her chest. The bindings were damp where they pressed against her skin, but when the last coils were uncovered, the fabric fell away from her breasts down to her waist, then let go of her entirely. He tossed the fabric aside. 

Astrid gasped, a low moan reaching his ears as she arched her back toward his touch and took a deep breath.

His lips where near her ear, and he spoke in the barest whisper. “Feels good to take them off, you said.”

“You have no idea,” she said, her voice low and rough with desire and amusement.

Her arms reached over his shoulders again, her hands in his hair as she pulled him close for another kiss, his chest pressed against hers. He had never felt so much of her skin against his at once.

“Gods.” He gasped into her mouth.

Her eyes opened and she tilted away from him, looking up at his face.

“What?”

The sunlight of her smile cut through the haze of his confusion. “You’re right. I should name them. After the gods.”

He stared at her, then laughed out loud, dropping his head to her shoulder as he tried to control the spin of his mind, the myriad of contradictory directions his imagination issued as to what he should do next. She tipped her head back, laughing with him, and in the subtle arch of her back, he found his path across her body. Leaning down, he slid his mouth from her collarbone over the top of her breast and drew her nipple into his mouth.

She gasped and reached up toward him, still trying to move closer, to reach more of him with her body, her hands, her mouth.

He listened. With one hand, he gently massaged her, stroking his fingertips over the creases left on her skin by the tight coils of fabric, smoothing them away, then kneading and tracing the shape of her breast, learning how she felt, what sounds she made.

He pressed her nipple between his teeth, lightly, pulling and suckling, and listened to her breathing change, the gasping, wordless encouragement giving him clues, directions of what to do next, what to try. He drew tighter, pulling the hardened tip deeper into his mouth, and she moaned, low in her throat, a potent sound he felt deep in his stomach.

Suddenly she tilted away, spinning him in place, forcing him backwards, and pressing him against the nearest tree. The bark bit into his skin and it was his turn to gasp. “What is it with you and trees?”

Her mouth was moving over his collarbone, up the side of his throat, and she growled, a sound he felt more than he heard.“You don’t like trees?”

“I don’t mind them, but I don’t think I like them as much as you do.”

She laughed, her lips near his ear, and he moved his head away he could look down at her, see her face, her smile.

Her hair was falling out of her braid, hanging in loose stands over her shoulder. She was leaning into him, pressing her body tight against his, and the scrape of the tree bark didn’t register in his mind when compared to the scorching softness of her skin, the sound she made when his fingertips traced over the sides of her breasts.

On impulse, he reached behind her to undo the tie of her braid. He’d have to braid her hair again anyway. He wanted to feel it over his hands, see it covering her shoulders, filling in the details of his most potent, secret desire: to see her unbound and loosened, soft and fluid, like every morning of his imagination, his secret wish for just the two of them every night. Alone.

He wanted that with a fierceness that burned his chest and stung his eyes again, and he blinked several times to clear them as he carefully uncoiled her hair. He wanted her in every possible way, in every quiet moment of his life, and he didn’t know how to explain, how to ask, how to tell her. He was teasing himself with his own desire, torturing himself while he satisfied his imagination.

“You’re unwinding me.”

He nodded.

“You’ll have to help me rewind.”

He nodded again. He was watching the way the muted light caused the color of her hair to shift from blonde to silver to white and back as the thick strands slowly fell away from one another and cascaded down her back past her waist.

Astrid arched her neck and shook out her hair, further loosening the remnants of her braid. She moaned when his fingers slid into her hair, massaging her scalp as he sifted through the rippling softness.

He shifted how he was standing, planting his metal leg into the moss at the base of the tree, and bending his knee.

Astrid didn’t hesitate. She slid closer, straddling his bent leg and sliding over him in a movement so fluid he lost his breath.


	34. Agreement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So NSFW. Le plus ultra NSFW! Please don't get into trouble. And above all, thank you for the comments, the kudos, and the encouragement!

Hiccup had dreamed of a moment like this one.

Or, at least, he thought he had.

He’d woken up too many nights to count, alone, confused, and aching, unable to remember the specifics of what his mind had envisioned. He’d felt pieces of that same confusion at different times, that same ache, but no breath of time until now had come close to the early morning weight of burning dreams he couldn’t recall.

He could barely keep a single thought in his mind for more than a split second, yet nothing had ever been so simple, so entirely perfect, suffused with a clarity that was almost sharp in his mind. She filled his hands, her hair covering his arms as his palms traced the curves of her back. Her legs rested alongside his hips, her body tilted against his on his bent leg. Her hands moved over his face, his chest, grasping at him, pulling him toward her then pushing him back against the tree as he kissed her. 

He wasn’t going anywhere. The metal of his prosthetic was buried into the soft moss beneath them, and with his own strength he kept his balance and hers. He was a fixed point on a map, his desire and hers orbiting around them both, enclosing them like the fog that concealed them from everything, including time.

He slid his hands over her waist and around her backside, exploring, watching and listening, tasting her reaction, the rhythm of her breath, the way her nails dug into his skin in marvelous torment. So much of her skin met his, burning him where they touched. He didn’t want her to move away but he wanted to set her apart from him for just enough time that he could explore, feel with his hands the contours and heat that rested against his chest.

Then the myriad chaos of his thoughts found an order, a logical sequence, like the pages of a book falling into place. His face began to burn at the momentary image of another book, and he was glad they were too close for her to notice.

His ideas formed their own map, a chart of what to try, where to go, what to do to find the destination he most wanted to reach and wasn’t always sure how to navigate.

As always, he started with what he knew, and what he wanted. He kissed her mouth, the corner of her lips, allowing her to catch her breath while he feasted on the warm and sensitive skin near her temple, along her jaw, behind her ear. He whispered fragmented words, with sighs and gasps that echoed hers, and through the chaos of his own torment found a path to follow.

It was accidental, but so were most of his discoveries.

He wrapped her hair around his hand, winding it into a long, shimmering coil around his wrist, his fingers, his forearm. He’d started because he wanted to touch her hair, to feel it sliding through his hand, but he ended up creating a gauntlet of spun gold that he could use to hold her still. He didn’t tighten his grip. It wasn’t his intention to pull her hair. He adjusted only to hold her still, to keep her immobile as he feasted on her neck, her jawline, and the sensitive, soft, and tempting skin beneath it.

Then he felt a shudder move through her body and lifted his head to look at her face. Her eyes were closed, her hands clutching at his shoulders, his chest, his arms, moving along his side in a frantic haphazard rhythm. Her mouth was open, her breath erratic. The flush that spread across her face was the most fascinating, that and the way her hands reached for him, over and over.

He experimented, flexed his arm to very subtly tighten his grip on her hair.

Her lids fluttered open and she gasped, a quiet moan following the sound, low and soft in the back of her throat.

He lowered his face, nuzzling the base of her ear as he skimmed his teeth along her neck. ”You like this.”

When she didn’t answer, he glanced up, concerned that he’d read her wrong.

But no, he hadn't. He wasn’t wrong. She had pressed her lips together like she was trying to keep from answering.

He pulled her closer, wrapping his free arm around her waist and drawing her into him, reveling in the strength of her body pressed against his. She didn’t pull away or resist, and he wasn’t holding her so tightly she couldn’t move.

She could move - easily.

He glanced at her face again before kissing her. She didn’t try to keep her lips closed. She dove into him, devouring him, her hands in his hair, tugging at the braid she’d woven, then sliding around his neck and over his back, pressing closer, deeper against him. He wasn’t afraid or hesitant that she’d feel how hard he was. It wasn’t possible to hide it anyway, but when she rocked forward, pressing the heated center of her body against his erection, he gasped, drawing a breath from her mouth that she stole back by doing it again.

Astrid went exploring while he tried to regain control of his breathing, her mouth sliding along the edge of his jaw, through the stubble to his neck. Her whispers were incendiary, setting his blood on fire.

He let go of her hair so he could use both arms to pull her closer, anchoring her against his body with his hands covering her hips. Then he tipped her upper body back just a little, enough that he could scrape his teeth along the skin where her neck met her shoulder, feel the shudder of her reaction, the rasp of her breathing as it changed.

Then he dipped his head lower, his tongue tracing faint lines along the top of her breast. Her nails bit into his shoulders and he felt her shiver in every part of his body, and answered with his own when she slid her body against his, rocking, gliding over his erection.

He drew one nipple between his teeth, and the noise she made nearly undid him. Maintaining his balance was one of the most difficult things he’d ever done. Not in keeping them both upright, but balancing his mind between listening and feeling, observing and feasting. He wanted to explore for hours, the texture of her skin, the softness of each curve, the reaching peak of her nipples, the way they felt, the way she tasted. But he couldn’t stop listening and analyzing. Half of his mind, possibly more, was determined to read and understand her, decipher her reactions, translate each shiver, each moan, each grasping hold of her fingers or movement against his body so that he knew what to do next, what to change, what to repeat, and how to heighten everything.

The edge of his teeth against her breast meant a gasp. Sliding his fingers over her skin, smoothing away the remaining marks from her bindings elicited a quiet moan that made his stomach tighten with longing. Tasting her nipple, exploring with his tongue, extended her gasp into a moan. Pulling tight, drawing the tip into his mouth caused her to arch toward him. Pressing the peaked skin against the edge of his teeth with his tongue, gently, then with firmer intent, meant he’d feel her nails on his shoulder, and the rhythm of her movements against him would shudder then increase. Sucking, exploring the changing texture with his tongue, kneading and stroking with his fingers repeated those sounds, and added a vibrating urgency to the movements of her hips over his, the way she pressed herself repeatedly against the ridge of his erection, reaching for his body with her own.

When he pulled away, covering her breasts with his hands and pinching lightly with his fingers instead of his teeth, the moment he breathed in, her mouth found his, her tongue echoing the roll and pitch of her body against his. Her kiss, the taste of her mouth, the feel of her breasts against his hand, the fall of her hair covering them both, the bite of the tree bark on his back consumed him. If they’d burst into flames, he wouldn’t have been surprised.

Her hands slid over his shoulders in erratic movements. Sometimes she grabbed onto him like she worried she’d fall, despite the grip he had on her body and the way her legs rested over his. Then her hands would relax and she’d chart his chest with her fingertips, tracing his muscles, her nails lightly scraping over his nipples, then with more force, making him shudder. Her touch was like liquid fire painted across his skin, fueled by the overwhelming amazement that it was Astrid, here in his arms, reaching for him, exploring him the way he ached to explore her. He didn’t want to close his eyes for too long. He needed the confirmation, the unmistakable evidence of what was happening, as if the burning of his skin against hers, the scent of her hair, the taste of her mouth and the sounds they made weren’t enough, weren’t searing themselves in his mind.

He could never draw this.

Then her nails skidded over the side of his chest, and he couldn’t help jerking away, unable to stop the brief shout of laughter.

“Sorry - I know how ticklish you are.”

He felt his face turning a deep, obvious red at her smirk. “That is not an invitation.”

Astrid rested her forehead against his, a smile breaking across her face, quiet laughter erasing the jagged gasps of a moment before. “Oh, really?”

“Yes, really, unless you want to fall down.” His actions belied his words; he wrapped his arms around her, bringing her against him, tipping her weight forward so that she pressed against him, tilted forward. They wouldn’t fall.

“Is that a dare?”

He tightened his grip on her, and she slid against him, riding the edge of his erection. He gasped, then exhaled in broken intervals, the sensation overwhelming him. He still wouldn’t let them fall. “No.”

“Are you sure?” 

This would not end well, he thought with a smile. Her answering and very wicked grin gave him an idea.

Kissing her deeply, he began winding her hair around his hand, then his forearm in a long, uneven coil, then slid his fingers against her scalp, cupping her head in his palm. Holding her gently immobile again, he moved his head and kissed along the line of her throat to her jaw, then to her ear, nuzzling the skin around it.

Then, in a low, teasing whisper, he said, “What if I tie you up?”

 

…

 

Fire ripped through Astrid at his words, at his touch. Fierce heat flooded her veins, built of desire, fierce yearning and some shameful anger at herself that she couldn’t control her reaction, nor the urgency of her movements. She pushed him with her body, her hands moving him away while she pulled herself toward him. If he were a tree, she’d climb him, pushed onward by determination, frustration, and fire, the shifting liquid heat that pooled in her belly and roared through each of her limbs.

She had no idea what he was doing to her, and she never wanted him to stop. The edge of his teeth were skimming down her neck, making her shiver and burn. His lips found her neck, then that spot below where her braid normally rested that sent sparks through her body from the heat of his mouth.

She couldn’t find the words to tell him how much he made her burn, turned her molten inside.

When his tongue, then his teeth, covered one nipple, then the other, she gave up. She couldn’t have spoken coherently if her life depended on it.

Her thoughts were a mess, at war with themselves.

She desperately wanted him to do what he said, to tie her up, restrain her for real instead of by gentle facsimile like he had with her hair, a recent memory she’d revisit over and over in the darkness of her room. And on the heels of that ferocious desire came confusion, shame. No one should make her submit, tie her up, restrain her.

But this was different, her desire argued. He was different.

There were countless ways in which he was the exception, the only one outside her rules, inside her boundaries, the person she knew better than anyone.

He matches her strength, even when he doesn’t expect that he can. She can fight him, has fought him, spent the full energy of her body and her frustration on him, and he took it, met her strike for strike in practice without failing.

Her stubborn will refused to agree, rejecting the idea that anyone could subdue her. Then a tiny, incendiary thought entered her mind.

 _But you trust him_.

She wouldn’t let anyone unwind her like he had, nor challenge or change her. And she wouldn’t allow anyone to restrain her, tie her down or tell her what to do if she didn’t trust them entirely.

She trusted him without question.

“Tie me?” She whispered her question, echoing her thoughts and his words, the riot of her mental argument passing in a flash of time barely measurable except in the way it changed how she felt.

“Yes.”

She shuddered at his reply, feeling her vulnerability crack and fill with molten fire. His mouth explored the contours of her breasts, the landscape she kept tied down, hidden, wrapped up tightly beneath layers of fabric. It was practical, but she didn’t always like it.

She had wanted him to reveal her, explore…everything. He let go of her hair, and she curled over him, her arms holding him to her, her head resting gently on his. Her hair covered them both, surrounding them with uncertain shadows.

When he spoke a long moment later, she could feel and hear his words, the sound and rhythm mixing on her skin, pouring over her. “Tie your hands back, hold you still.”

She shuddered again, and her doubt dissolved into nothingness. She wanted this. She wanted him. And she trusted him entirely, knowing that his only goal was her, to explore and send her flying, then bring her to a safe landing wrapped around him.

Her whisper was low, a sound that echoed the darkly burning ache growing inside her. “How? Show me.”

His quick huff of laughter ripped over her skin, cooling her for a moment before his teeth shivered over her nipple, making her gasp aloud.

He lifted his head, and met her gaze. Her entire world shifted, pivoting into this moment, the deep green of his eyes drawing her in, covering her with fire while making her feel safe, protected, free to explore and chase a forbidden, secret desire she’d never considered for more than a moment.

She could tell he was thinking, his mind soaring at impossible speeds, considering every possibility. That the focus of his attention, his incredible inventive mind, was entirely on her, on her body and her pleasure, made it difficult to breathe. Her eyes stung for a moment before she blinked to clear them.

Then he raised his arms and pushed her hair back, sweeping it to one side so it fell across her shoulder. He never looked away from her face, his expression considering, weighing options, figuring out what to do.

If he became immobile because of indecision, she might have to kill him.

His hands moved to her shoulders, then slid down her arms to circle her wrists, which rested between them. “I could probably design cuffs,” he murmured. She felt her face turn scarlet and glared at him.

“You are not taking a break to fly back to the forge.”

His laugh was genuine, and surprised her so much that when he pulled her forward, she didn’t expect it, and fell into him.

Their mouths were a breath apart, and while his expression was kind and happy, his voice was different - dark, and full of tempting promise. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He kissed her quickly, then moved his hands to her hips, fingertips stroking over her skin, dipping into the loose waistband as his thumbs circled over her hipbones. She shivered, watching his eyes darken as he touched her. His hands slid over her, around her waist, then down, cupping her so he could pull her tight against him. The heat of his erection was unmistakable between their two layers of worn cloth, and she reached, shifted to pursue more contact.

His thumbs traced a firm line over her hips again, and then his hands dove down, covering the back of her thighs and holding her still as he lifted himself toward her, showing her, letting her feel what she did to him. She wasn’t alone.

Then his fingertips stroked lower, then lower still, meeting beneath where she ached most, and she dropped her forehead to his shoulder, unable to keep her eyes open, unable to let him see her face when he discovered the wet heat she knew that he would find. 

“Astrid.” His voice was still a whisper, thinner than the fog that covered them.

She lifted her head.

“Don’t look away.”

“I…” She didn’t know what to say, how to explain. She sat up a little, lifting her upper body so that she didn’t lean into him so much.

Suddenly his hands pulled away, ending his tentative but incredibly erotic exploration, and she frowned.

But then, oh, Gods.

He moved her hands away from his chest, and brought them behind her, restraining her by holding her wrists tightly.

She gasped, but couldn’t look away from his face. So much determination, fierce confidence and careful observation mixed in the lowering of his eyebrows, the stubborn set of his mouth as he watched her.

He tightened his grasp, and she shivered, nodding slightly. Then she moved, reaching for him, for the hard, hot ridge of his erection, needing the pressure, the friction, any movement that would bring her closer to explosion.

Her movements were subtle at first, then erratic, mimicking her breathing. She could reach some, but not enough. Unyielding heat pressed against her, and she rocked against it, straining to move forward, closer, to find more. He held her wrist tightly in his hands, and she fought against him, trying to reach her while he pulled her back.

Then she realized, knew what she needed. Turning her wrist in his grasp, a simple task given how damp her entire body had become, she laced the fingers of one hand into his tightly, then covered them with her other hand. 

“I need you.”

He frowned.

“I need you to touch me. I won’t pull my hands away.”

He raised one eyebrow.

“I promise. Please.”

His eyes narrowed a fraction.

Her whisper was ragged, and she gripped his hand behind her back as tightly as she could. “ _Please._ ”

Easily breaking her hold, he moved his grip so that he caught the fingers of her free hand, holding both of hers in one of his. It wasn’t unbreakable. She could escape, but she didn’t. She laced her fingers into his, overlapping and holding on.

He slid his other hand away.

She looked down into the tangle of her hair. “Please touch me.”

He stopped, his hand resting on her hip.

On a sharp breath, she looked up. He was watching her.

“You can’t look away,” he said softly.

Her mouth twisted into a wry smile. His hand tightened over hers, and in his strength, the security and firmness of his grip, she found more comfort. And even more arousal. 

“Please,” he added, his tiny grin matching hers, making her heart stutter in her chest.

She nodded.

He moved his hand again, pushing her hair away from her face. She leaned into his touch, feeling his fingers stroke over her forehead, the side of her cheek.

Then, before he could move, she turned and bit him, catching the pad of his finger between her teeth, nipping at him. Not hard enough to break the skin, but with enough force to make him flinch.

“Hey,” he managed before she dove toward him, kissing him. He may have restrained her hands, but she could still reach him with her mouth, her tongue… and her teeth.

He cupped her head in his hand, matching the urgency and desperation of her kiss, and she began sliding over his erection again, moving closer and closer, but finding that it wasn’t quite enough. His hand had moved to her breast, stroking over her skin, pinching her nipple, sending fire through her body. It still wasn’t enough.

He tightened his grip on her hands when she lifted her head. She met his gaze, ready to ask him again. But before she could open her mouth to speak, she realized that she didn’t need to ask.

He moved his hand down her body, over her stomach, and down, reaching between them, easily finding then sliding between folds of skin that were hot and aching.

She hadn’t understood how much she needed his touch until she had it, and it was all she could do to keep her promise that she wouldn’t look away. She wanted to throw her head back, or lean forward, rest her forehead on his shoulder, anything to hide her face as she began to move over him, sliding up and down over his fingers, riding his hand faster and faster.

But she’d agreed. She’d agreed to be restrained. She had acquiesced and let him subdue her.

And in the end, it wasn’t his holding her arms that caused her to come undone. It wasn’t his grip on her fingers, or the way he held her hands behind her back.

It was that he didn’t look away.

He watched her, whispering encouragement, kissing her then moving away to look at her face, charting the expressions on her face and the signs that she grew closer and closer. She could feel the impossible hardness of his erection beside his hand, straining against the fabric of his leggings, and she wanted to reach for it, bring him with her.

She had promised. She couldn't hide as she rode his hand, his fingers sliding inside her, the heel of his hand angled _perfectly_ , the heat of his arousal matching the maelstrom of fire in her body. Her promise caught her, held her back from the edge for one moment, and another, and another. He could see everything.

He could see too much.

His whisper reached through the chaos of her thoughts. Devious words, urging her on, telling her what he could do to her, what he had planned, and she wanted to answer, to agree, or whisper his name, but she couldn’t. She was balanced on the sharpest point for what felt like ages, unable to fly or fall in any direction.

Then he gripped her hands in his, tightened against her fingers, and moved her arms away from her body as he had a moment before, pulling her away from where the friction and the torment had coalesced into an impossible, fiery peak.

She had to fight him, pull against his hold to reach toward him, battle the restraint she’d thought would be so easy to break and reach with her body toward his.

And when she won a fractional victory, when she slid forward against him, his fingers slid deeper into her, pressing inside her in a way she hadn’t experienced before.

The most sensitive part of her body pushed against his erection. She froze.

He shuddered.

Nothing stood between them but fabric and impossible scorching heat. And in that moment, he gave her the route she had to follow, the path toward him that would bring her where she ached to go.

She moved at the same moment he did, toward each other, pressing down as he pushed up toward her. She didn’t look away, and the arrested expression of wonder and intensity on his face sent her flying into the most intense orgasm of her life.

 


	35. Turn About

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still on the NSFW side. Faites attention! Merci!

How long had she been flying? 

She had been holding onto him as she writhed and gasped, her body unfolding, exploding in every direction.

Her heartbeat galloped through her body, the burning intensity of pleasure falling away like dragon fire in a dark sky, flashing and fading, leaving warmth and shock behind.

At some point she’d closed her eyes.

He’d let go of her hands. She felt unmoored.

But he held onto her, kept her upright, safe within his arms. And when she finally descended and landed on whatever island they were on, her face was pressed into his neck, and she was trying to say his name.

_Gods._

She felt wrung out, and full of energy, depleted and replete, a paradox of sensation, and she couldn’t find the words to explain it.

When she was certain she could lift her head, she looked at him.

He looked inordinately pleased with himself, a half smile and awed wonder mixing on his face. She didn’t blame him. She was pretty pleased with herself. She knew her own body, knew how or where to bring herself pleasure, but turning herself… turning her body over to someone else, that was….

“What’s wrong?”

She blinked. Apparently she wasn’t too good at hiding her thoughts behind her usual expression. “Nothing, I just-“

She moved to find better footing, and put her hand on the tree behind him.

The bark, the sharpness of it, the awful texture hit her at the same moment that he shifted, and she caught the flinch, the split second of discomfort on his face.

“Hiccup. Oh, Gods, I’m sorry.”

The bark was rough like gathered razors, long and thin, and it hurt her palm. He’d been leaning - no, she’d been _pressing_ him back against it for Odin only knew how long.

He blinked at her. “For what?”

She jumped back to the moss, pulling him away from the tree.

“What the- what are you doing?”

She ducked under his arm and spun him around to look at his back. “I wasn’t thinking. I had no idea. Oh, Gods, I’m so sorry.”

His back had shallow cuts alongside long, angry red lines where the bark had imprinted on his skin. Only one cut was bleeding. The heat in her body turned to slick anguish. He’d been up against that surface and hadn’t said a word, complained or -

“Hiccup. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He tried to turn and reach for her but she evaded him and shifted his posture so she could see more of his back.

“Every other time you’ve had a shirt on - I wasn’t thinking.”

Hiccup shrugged. “Thinking is overrated.”

She peeked over his shoulder at him. “Did you seriously just say that to me? With a straight face?”

He shrugged, hot eyes and a half smile looking back at her. “You’re the one who said it was only fun if you got a scar out of it.”

Her laughter soothed the surface of the twisting guilt that filled her chest, but she couldn’t look away from where the pattern of the bark was embossed across his back.

“I have to fix this.”

“There’s nothing to fix.” He tried to turn and face her but she wouldn’t let him. She ran her fingertips over the uneven texture. It was as if the tree had stamped itself onto him.

He shivered under her touch. As awful as she felt, she was still curious. And determined.

She moved closer, sliding her lips across his shoulders, her tongue tracing his spine up to the back of his neck, while her hands slid over his sides, up and across his ribs, then down over his stomach.

He didn’t try to move.

She pressed her body against his with one arm around his waist to keep her balance. Her mouth moved over his neck, the line of his shoulders, with her other hand sliding down the valley of his spine to rest on his hip, her fingertips slipping beneath the loose waistband of his leggings.

He bent slightly and tried to reach for her, but she wouldn’t let him turn around. His extended his arms backwards, covering her hips with his hands before his balance tipped and he had to put one hand on the tree beside them to stay upright. She felt him push back against her, and instinctively positioned her legs so that she couldn’t slip, so she could support whatever he was about to do. Her hands were still exploring him, but her posture was slightly defensive, as if they were sparring and she was ready for whatever move he made.

Her guess was correct - with a subtle shift to the right, Hiccup pulled the spear tip of his prosthetic from where it was embedded in the moss and tried once more to turn around to face her.

She held him back. “Nuh uh.” She spoke against his skin, and watched as goosebumps rose over his neck and shoulders. Her breasts were pressed against him, and she could feel the heat, the imprint of the bark in his skin. For a moment she wanted to rub her entire body against his, feel all of him with more than her hands, with every part of her, every sensitive nerve ending that seemed to reach for him. When her face flushed deep red at the image in her mind, she was relieved he couldn’t see her, but she still ducked her head and rested her forehead against the back of his neck.

His breathing became the tide she navigated as she explored his body without seeing what she did. Her hands moved around the waistband of his leggings, skipping the area in front of his hips that she knew was horribly ticklish, though it was tempting. 

With her fingertips, she traced the line of hair on his belly up, then down. His breathing stopped, then started again, rapid and uneven, a rising storm inside him. Her hands continued up, over the planes and valleys of his stomach, his chest, tangling in the slight hair before moving to his nipples. Were his as sensitive as hers? She thought so.

A rolling touch, gentle then sharp, confirmed her suspicions. He gasped, his body shuddering with his breath, turning her blood to fire. Pinching lightly caused an echo of that gasp, and tightening her fingertips and pulling created a sound that might have been a moan, except he suppressed it. Damn him.

She wanted to play for hours, figure out how to direct his arousal, navigate his body to do the same thing to him that he’d just done for her, to leave him languid and eager the way she felt now.

Her fingers followed the thin trail of hair again, this time moving lower, down his body slowly, carefully. She had to be cautious not to tickle him, so her hands were looking for the path that would be only pleasure, and increasing amounts of it.

She wasn’t touching his erection, but she could feel the heat of his arousal against the back of her hand as she stroked over his skin. So much warmth, like holding her hands close to a fire.

What must it be like in the dead of winter, beneath a mountain of furs, to have so much heat pressed -

She swallowed hard, refocusing her attentions on what she felt and heard, but couldn’t see.

His breathing was erratic, a choppy sound broken by gasps and attempts to speak that were wholly unsuccessful.

She wanted to touch him, grip the heat that beckoned to her and listen to how his breathing changed. Her hands moved lower, carefully, with every intention of reaching her destination. Tickling him was the furthest possibility from her mind - until she brushed too lightly over the curve of muscle by his hip and he twisted away from her, gasping with uncontrolled laughter.

Then he lost his balance and fell sideways onto the moss.

She couldn’t help herself. She started laughing, too.

With an embarrassed expression, like he was angry at himself, he rolled over and was about to stand, but Astrid leaped forward and pushed him back down onto the moss.

She straddled his lap, her knees on either side of his hips, and the scorching core of her body slid over the ridge of his erection. He gasped and grabbed her hips tightly.

“Are there any rocks beneath you?”

“Wh-what?”

“Rocks? Tree roots? Weaponry, that sort of thing?”

He looked up at her, confusion narrowing his eyes. She decided she loved that expression, because it was so seldom she could completely confuse his very clever, very intelligent mind.

He seemed determined not to be pushed down, and kept trying to sit up, pull her closer. He curved his hands over her hips, trying to sit up, and while she loved the things that effort did to the muscles of his chest and stomach, not to mention his arms, she was determined he should stay down unless there was a reason for him not to.

She leaned forward, pressing her hands against his shoulders and pushing him gently back to the ground. “Anything other than moss beneath you?”

He shook his head after a moment, his grip firming over her hips, making her shiver. His touch could burn them both.

“You sure?”

The stillness of his body as he considered his question made her think of the cove, the clear, smooth pond of water that made her want to jump in, break the surface and cool off beneath. She wanted to dive into him, but it probably wouldn’t cool them off much.

When he nodded, she did exactly that before he could reach for her again. Sinking her hands into his hair and lowering her body onto his, she kissed him, her hair falling across her back as he slid his hands around her, holding her closer to him.

She tried to keep him down, but it wasn’t working. He kept trying to push her up into a seated position, lift his body from the ground so he could touch more of her.

She couldn’t win, not against his determination, so she met his mouth midway across the scant distance between them when he reached for her again and distracted his attention. His hands found her hips, but he didn’t need to press or move her. She did that on her own, making them both writhe and reach for more. More sensation, more heat, more contact.

His hands covered her breasts, kneading and shaping each beneath his palms. Astrid reached up to pull her hair back away from her shoulders, and when her arms were raised behind her, he wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted his head so he could taste her breasts, stroke her skin, nibble and suck and torture her with his tongue again. She moaned, her hands sliding into his hair, holding him closer, arching into his mouth, asking without words for more, still more.

She slid over his erection with uneven, jagged movements. The heat of his body and his increasing arousal felt like fire. It reached through his leggings and hers, causing her own body to burn. When his teeth skimmed the edge of her nipple, she cried out. His hand covered her waist again, his thumb stroking her hip above the edge of her leggings, making her tremble.

“Gods,” she whispered again. Everything so sensitive: everything he did made it worse.

Or better. 

When she took a deep breath, collected the thoughts that were blowing away in the chaos of her mind, he tried to distract her with his hands, his mouth.

He wasn’t going to win.

She pushed him fully onto his back, and he resisted, trying to partially sit up again.

“We should-“

“No,” she said, her voice firm and quiet, her hands on his shoulders.

“Maybe we-“

“No.” Was he trying to convince her to leave? Not likely.

She moved against him, holding him down with her body.

“Let me-“

She shook her head. He was trying to convince her to stop, and she wasn’t sure why. He gasped, a hissing breath drawn between his teeth, and his eyes closed for a moment when she slid her body against his, heat sparking between them.

“Are you in pain?”

His eyes flew open, and he looked very confused. “No.”

“Is there any reason why I should let you up?”

“Uh, well, you - I mean, we, you…”

“I…what?” Her face was very close to his, and she could watch the rapid blinking of his eyes, and the way his face began to flush deep red. Because she was straddling his hips, she could feel the scorching intensity of his erection pressed against her, and she slowly rotated her hips in a lazy circle over him, watching his reaction. His breath sped up, and his eyes unfocused, like he’d forgotten how to speak.

She allowed herself a tiny smile. Perfect.

Then she lowered her face so she could rub her cheek against his, her breath ruffling the hair at his temple. Her lips were next to his ear, so she didn’t need to speak in her normal voice, but she didn’t whisper either. “Is there any reason why I can’t do to you what you just did to me?”

He flinched and coughed, stuttering a reply, and she held in a laugh. “No - I mean, well, yes, but that’s basic-“

She put her hand over his mouth, and lifted her head to look him in the eye, her expression fierce, like she was lining up a throw to sink her axe in a wide, unmarked tree.

“I am going to tie _you_ up, and knock you over the head if you don’t stop arguing with me.”

He laughed aloud behind her fingers, and she lifted her hand away. “Is it always violence with you?”

But he gave in as he spoke, placing his hands on her legs, then sliding his palms up to her waist, his thumbs pulling the waistband of her leggings away from her hipbones. He wasn’t pushing her away. He was inviting her closer.

“I told you. It’s not violence. It’s communication.”

He laughed again, but the sound broke apart on a wild, serrated breath when she leaned down and slid the edge of her teeth where his neck met his shoulder. She loved when he kissed her there, and suddenly it was the most fascinating spot on his body, tanned, muscled, and covered with freckles.

She felt his hands move up her sides as she feasted on his neck, savoring how his breathing changed so quickly from laughter to something that sounded like anticipation. His thumbs curved along the base of her breasts, making her want to arch her back into his touch, but she wouldn’t give in to the temptation. She wasn’t moving away. She was in charge. She owned this time with him, and it was so rare to have him spread beneath her, like a feast for her hands, her mouth, her eyes. Even the noises he made were addictive, especially when she ran the edge of her teeth over his nipple, her hips circling the searing thickness of his erection with her own molten heat.

Eventually, she had to shift her position to better reach her target, though she still had to apply strategy and stealth to prevent him from stopping or distracting her. She lifted her upper body enough to look down, but not so far that he stirred. His eyes were closed. His hands had been flexing erratically on her hips, her waist, grabbing and releasing her as she had tormented him with her mouth and hands. Now that she’d stopped, he gripped her waist in his hands and held firm, like she was keeping him anchored to the ground.

In the soft light beneath the fog that still covered them both, she watched the muscles of his stomach flex with his breathing, his reaction to her movements, the way she rotated her body over his, pressing then sliding up and down along his erection.

When he realized she no longer covered his body with hers, he froze, but didn’t open his eyes. Instead he reached higher with his hands, as if he were verifying she were there - like she’d go anywhere. This moment belonged to her, and he wasn’t going anywhere, either.

With a smooth, fast shift of her weight, almost cat like, she prowled lower over his abdomen, her hands next to his stomach, her body poised over his. His leggings were pulled taut over his hips, the ridge of his erection prominent behind the worn, soft fabric. With her fingertips, she caught the edge and began to peel the waistline done.

She waited for him to look for her, open his eyes and met her gaze. Instead, he nearly jumped upright, trying to sit up, hands out to stop her.

She was ready for him.

She slid up the length of his body, pressing him back to the moss, holding him down with her arms on his shoulders, her body over his hips. She could feel him throbbing under her, the pace of his blood echoed by the erratic staccato of his breathing.

“Astrid - you-“

“Yes.”

He looked at her, and she put her hands on his face, kissed him with slow, gentle, determined thoroughness.

She whispered between kisses. “Why not?”

“Wh- what?”

“Why not? Why did you stop me?”

His mouth opened, closed, opened again. He had no answer. Which made her feel better. His hesitation had made fear worry, made her fear.

She couldn’t stop herself from asking. “Is there a reason you… do you not want me to-“

In reply, he pulled her head down with one hand, bringing her mouth to his, and with the other wrapped around her waist, pressing her tight against him, nearly branding the skin of her stomach with the heat of his erection. That answered that question - there was no doubt what he wanted.

Taking her cue from his whispered encouragement, the explicit and incendiary things he’d said to her, she leaned down to whisper in his ear. “I want to make you scream. I want to lick you until you lose your mind.”

He was gasping for air like he’d just run from Berk to the island they were on, wherever it was. It didn’t matter. He was here now, and she had him.

Quieter, allowing some of her worry to become audible, she said, “Let me, Unless you don’t want me to.”

His silence, the way he held onto her tightly for a moment, was part of an answer, but it wasn’t enough.

“Please?”

She moved to look at him again. The nod of his head was a relief, but his expression, a mix of tension and excitement and maybe a little worry… that made her laugh. “Excellent. But there’s a penalty.”

“Penalty?” His eyes flew open. He sounded outraged.

She lifted her body so she sat over his hips and looked down at him. She licked her lips slowly, knowing he’d notice. Anticipation, power, the possible victory in front of her made her feel as if bubbles had been captured inside her bloodstream.

“You have to watch.”

“What?!”

“You heard me.”

“Astrid-“

“You have to watch,” she said again, her voice unchanged.

“You’re kidding me.”

She shook her head. “You have to. You can’t look away or close your eyes. Same rules that applied to me.”

“Oh, Gods.”

“Promise me.” She leaned forward, managed to imitate his words, the cadence, the intensity of a moment before perfectly.

He shook his head at her faintly, unable to speak.

“Promise me, Hiccup.”

He laughed, a short huff of disbelief. “I can promise you I won’t last more than 30 seconds.”

She grinned at him. “We’ll see about that.”


	36. Terror and Joy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oui, still NSFW. Merci for your comments, kudos, and reviews!

She was trying to kill him.

There was no other explanation.

His thoughts circled tightly over two - no, three - separate instructions.

_Don’t close your eyes._

_Don’t forget to breathe. If you get light headed you'll close your eyes._

_Don’t… not yet._

There was no doubt in his mind that she was going to kill him. His breathing was erratic and ragged. His heart would explode from keeping the impossible rhythm in his chest but he couldn’t slow down. He’d breathe deeply, trying to calm his heart and his mind, but that would bring everything in front of him into focus, and his heart and lungs would take off again.

Blonde hair across his belly, summer highlights of white and gold shimmering under the muted light, soft and warm across his skin. If he followed the path of a tangled strand to her face, he’d see-

He closed his eyes.

“Hiccup.”

“How can you possibly-“

“You have to watch.”

“You’re killing me.”

“That’s… not what this is.” The laugh in her voice made him want to drop back onto the moss and cover his face with his hands.

But he couldn’t. He was propped up on his arms, watching.

Watching Astrid.

Who was laughing at him and not bothering to hide it. She was a wicked swirl of gold and silver surrounding the blue of her eyes and joyful curve of her mouth as she laughed, a sound and sight he’d usually treasure and try to freeze in his mind.

He couldn’t capture anything of this moment. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t happening. There was no way.

But she’d folded back the waistband of his leggings with efficient eagerness, run her hands along the length of him, explaining in the same voice she used to plan and explain battle strategy that he couldn’t look away, close his eyes, or cover his face. Explaining what she planned to do, and what he had to do in return. 

Which was impossible.

He’d tried to cheat, to his own quiet shame. He’d dropped his gaze to his abdomen, hoping she wouldn't notice as he watched the ripple of his breathing seize across his stomach, the way his muscles flexed as he gasped, the way his body responded to the slide of her hands, the warmth of her grasp.

“Nuh uh.”

Caught.

“Eyes down here.”

He really thought that at any moment, the painful terror and incredibly sharp joy of everything happening in front of him, to him, was going to kill him. He’d wake up in some fuzzy Valhalla, unable to tell anyone why he was there. He wasn’t sure this would count as a warrior’s death, either. He _was_ fighting, that was for sure. Fighting to breathe and not -

“Hiccup.”

What? He’d been looking!

“You weren’t focused.”

“You’re trying to kill me. Seriously.”

“I told you, that’s not what this is.” As she spoke, she ran her hand up the length of his erection, the skin hot and wet beneath her fingers, and it was almost impossible to keep his eyes from closing.

He had to think about something else. And keep his eyes open. And focused. And not thinking about what he was seeing, what he was feeling, the fire she was pouring into his body with her hands and her mouth.

Did she check their surroundings? Were they safe? He couldn’t really see - the dragons sounded like they were sleeping. He heard Toothless snoring, and did not hear the click and scratch of Stormfly’s nails. Toothless would warn him if someone were nearby, or flying over, or if Stormfly woke up and became upset at Astrid’s absence… or upset at her presence, curled around his body, her hair spilling across his skin into the moss beneath him.

Tilting his weight onto one arm, he gathered some of her hair into his hand, winding it loosely around his palm, wanting something to tie him down to the ground beneath him, to keep him from flying out of his body into the fog above.

He glanced up. The low grey clouds still covered them, a ceiling just above his head if he stood up, which he couldn’t do right now because he’d fall straight over and he really wanted to avoid that humiliation again.

Was there someone flying above the fog? Was anyone looking for them? Had everyone gone back to Berk and noticed they were the only ones still out on patrol?

Did Astrid know how much time had passed?

Did she know where the sun was in the sky hidden behind the clouds? 

He felt the edge of her teeth scoring the sides of his erection up to the tip, slightly painful and searingly erotic. He barely bit back a shout.

“I said. You have to watch. Me. You. Not the clouds.”

Her voice was muffled beneath her hair, and by the fact that she was moving her lips and teeth over the tip and-

Her hand squeezed tightly, sliding against his skin, and his mouth fell open, gasping, unable to reach enough air to breathe. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, feel the pulse of his blood in his body, in his chest, and in the dark, hot warmth of her mouth, he felt himself throbbing against her teeth and tongue.

“There’s no one here. We’d know. No one around. Just you and me.” Her voice was a wicked drenched vibration that surrounded him, and he had to think of something, anything, to keep from coming undone beneath her.

“I want you to.”

Had he spoken aloud? He didn’t think so. But then her lips closed over him, her hand rose and fell in a tight, slick grip, and her tongue slid over and around him until he didn’t know how he remained in one place, how he wasn’t shattered in pieces all over the ocean. She was tightening her grasp, and his entire body felt it. Her mouth was wrapping him into a taut bundle of tension with each slide and he tried to avoid breaking, avoid the explosion he knew was imminent.

He felt her laugh, low and playful, more than he heard it, and realized he was speaking but not making any sense. Sounds, pieces of her name, the beginning of a thought he couldn’t hold onto long enough to follow to the end, he was incoherent.

A gasp, and a low moan brought his attention into focus. He’d tightened his grip on her hair and pulled without meaning to. He drew breath to apologize, but the words froze in his throat.

She was watching him, blue eyes narrow and hot, watching him, and her enjoyment was clear on her face, evident in her breathing, in the way she shifted her body toward him, toward his hand, pressing her legs together and rolling her lower back as if relieving the same pressure that filled his body to impossible tension. With a stray moment of clarity, he watched her reaction as he tightened his grip on her hair, moving his hand so that he shifted the angle of her mouth moving over his erection, almost steering her movements.

The resulting explosion was monstrous. Her mouth opened slightly, her low gasp drawing cool air over the hot, wet maelstrom of sensation she was causing with her tongue, her hands, her teeth. The shock made him clench his fists, one hand wrapped within her hair, the other grabbing hold of something on the ground beneath him. And when her mouth descended, a low purr of desire in her throat, he lost control.

His orgasm went on for hours. Days, maybe. He closed his eyes. He couldn’t help it. He collapsed back onto the moss, his hand still lost in the riot of her hair, reaching and sliding over her head, feeling the rise and fall of her movements echoing the endless reverberations of his body.

He felt completely empty, and deeply, shamefully greedy. He wanted this every day, multiple times a day, her body spilling across his, and her body under his, with nothing but time and scent and desire to explore. When his thoughts became slightly more organized, he could only ponder when, and how, he could be alone with her again. And how soon. Because he needed to do to her what she’d done to him.

When he opened his eyes, she was sitting next to him, gathering her hair behind her and braiding it easily, a smug and very satisfied smile on her face. He sat up slowly, tugging his leggings into place. His breathing was still racing his heartbeat, both too fast to try to control. So he watched her, counting the methodical twists of her hands as she wrapped and braided her hair into something resembling order. The braid didn’t have to be perfect. It would be messy anyway if she’d flown.

That didn’t stop him from reaching for a section of hair she’d missed and braiding it quickly in a tight, straight queue. She took the braid from him and wrapped it around and through the bulk of her plait, a thread of smooth silk wound amid the slightly uneven chaos.

Confining her hair revealed much of her body, which she didn’t hide or seem embarrassed about. But he couldn’t figure out what to do, if he should look and feel his face turn bright red, or if he should avoid looking at her, which would probably make her angry. How was it he knew so clearly what he wanted, but had no idea what to do with himself when he had it for a bare moment? Why wasn’t this written down somewhere, preferably in a language he could read?

Astrid shifted position before he could react, and landed across his lap, straddling his hips and placing her hands on his shoulders.

“Seriously, you think too much.”

He laughed in response, his hands sliding around her waist, his fingers savoring the soft skin he rarely saw or explored.

“Have you seen my bindings?”

“Bindings?” Wait, had he been - yes. He’d been wrapping them around the hand he hadn’t buried in her hair. He could feel his face turning red as he pulled the bundle of cloth out from beneath him.

He looked at the bindings in his hands as she stood up and brushed the bits of moss and dirt from her skin. They were made of stitched lengths of old, softened cloth, but he’d seen how the wrapping left marks across her skin, and how much she’d enjoyed taking them off.

Her voice broke through the increasing speed of his thoughts. “Will you wind me?”

“Wind you?”

She gestured toward the bundle as he carefully and slowly stood up. He was still staring at them, his mind flying through ideas and designs.

“Hiccup.”

The cloth could be softer, or padded, maybe, and not so tight, though the tension kept-

“HICCUP.”

“What?”

She rolled her eyes at him, her braid falling over her shoulder. “Stop pondering whatever you’re designing and help me out here.”

“You know, you could-“

“Hiccup, you are not going to design better bindings.”

He passed one end of the fabric and watched her before taking over, winding the length of cloth around and over her breasts as she adjusted each layer. It looked uncomfortable and unpleasant. “How do you know I’m not?”

She looked up at him with a grin as she tucked the edge of the fabric into the folds. He’d moved closer to help her as the bundle grew smaller, and now, without any effort, she could lean her body against his and smile up at him. The softness of her skin, the warmth of her body alongside his, how much of him was touching her, stole his breath again.

“Many women before you have tried. But hey, have at it.”

He’d probably rather concentrate on unwrapping more than designing better methods of confining.

“What?”

As usual, deep in thought, he’d muttered aloud what he’d been thinking. It drove Gobber nuts.He had to stop doing that.

Astrid nudged him with her elbow. “What did you say?”

He took a breath, figuring honesty and desire were his best options. “I’d rather unwrap instead.”

“You and me both,” she replied, the smile in her voice muffled by the shirt she was pulling over her head.

He flushed, and looked around for his clothing and the skin of water as she found the rest of her belongings.

When they were dressed and only slightly disheveled, they wandered back hand in hand to where Toothless was stretching. Stormfly was calm, watching them both with one eye as she tilted her head toward Astrid.

“Guess she’s no longer guarding you as closely,” Hiccup said quietly.

“No, she and I worked things out. We have plans.”

“Oh, Gods.”

“You’ll like our plans.”

_Oh, Gods._

He’d reached Toothless’ saddle bags and was preparing to fly back to Berk when he heard a muffled shout from above the fog.

Astrid jumped up from where she crouched by Stormfly’s saddle, scanning the muted sky above them. “Was that… Tuffnut?”

…

 

With a roar and the sounds of sparking, Barf and Belch broke through the clouds and crashed into the hillside below Toothless and Stormfly. Instinctively, they curled into a circle to absorb the impact, which threw Tuffnut out of his saddle.

“Belch! We have - OW - talked about this. You have to - OUCH - land with out hitting the - OW - land.” He came to rest in a haphazard tangle of hair, helmet, and limbs alongside a large rock. “Ooooh, that hurts. That very much-“

“Tuff, are you ok?”

Astrid was right behind him as he ran unevenly down the slope, but she turned to look after Barf and Belch, who were getting to their feet unsteadily, both heads making uneven loops in the air.

Tuff stood up, brushed off his clothes, and began trying to untangle the horns on his helmet from his hair. “Fine. Well, mostly fine. I’d say 80% fine, maybe 82%. I am a little hungry.”

“You just crash-landed a two headed dragon by yourself, and you’re hungry?” Astrid was incredulous.

“Well, you know, food is the best response. Or maybe weaponry. Or mead. Mead is always good. Do you have any?”

Hiccup shook his head. “Where’s Ruffnut? Is she ok? Why isn’t she with you?”

“Ruffnut! Yes. She’s probably hungry, too, now that I think about it.”

Astrid rolled her eyes at him over Tuff’s shoulder.

“Tuff. Why are you here, and where is Ruffnut?”

“Oh! Right! Yes, my good man. Thank you for noticing my dashing arrival.”

“Tuffnut.”

“I have no idea where Ruff is, that feckless she-beast. She is entirely without fecks. Devoid of all!”

“Did she fall off?” Barf looked at Astrid, eyes widening, and tried to take off. Belch refused to budge.

“No, no, she’s fine. I think she’s fine. Like I said, she might be hungry.”

Astrid’s expression compressed into angry lines that indicated she was going to get her axe and hit him any minute. Hiccup put his hands up, both to placate her and draw Tuffnut’s attention back to him. “Where did you last see her? Are you worried about her?”

“Worried about her? No! I’m worried about him!”

“Him? Who is _him?_ ” Astrid said, her voice thin with frustration.

“Uh, Snotlout? Who’d you think?”

Hiccup rubbed the top of his head with one hand.“So, wait, Ruff is missing, and you’re worried about Snotlout?”

Astrid shrugged. “Makes sense to me.”

“You don’t think it’d be….” Hiccup circled one hand in the air trying to come up with the right word. “Uh, better to leave them alone?”

“No,” Tuffnut said, placing his helmet back on his head. “That would be very bad. _Very_ bad.”

Astrid folded her arms, and moved to stand next to Hiccup. “Why, exactly?”

“She has my book — stolen again, I might add, as in, she stole it _again._ And I hadn’t removed the pages about ropes, traps, manacles, and maces.”

“Manacles and… oh, Gods.” Hiccup wouldn’t let himself look at Astrid. He knew the pages Tuff was talking about. He had read similar pages. He could feel himself turning red, and he knew Astrid noticed - he heard her trying to smother a laugh. “So we need to find them.”

“Eh, it wouldn’t hurt. Or it might have hurt already, by the time we get there.”

“Where did you last see them?”

Tuff interlaced his hands behind his back and walked slowly in a circle, frowning up at the clouds. “We landed to check out a flat rock on an island. Ruff insisted. Said it had potential. For what, I have no idea.”

This time, Hiccup couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Astrid, who looked at him at the same moment, a mischievous smile on her face.

When Tuff didn’t continue, Astrid took a step toward him. “And then?”

“Oh, well, I went, ah, off to attend to necessary business, which is when I need to -“

“Yes, we get it.” Hiccup sighed. “And?”

“When I returned from my very necessary business, which took some time, I might add, thanks to all that cooking Sigrid is doing. Astrid, what does she put in the meat pies? They’re marvelously dense, better than yak pockets, but afterward-"

“Tuff.”

“Oh, right. Yes. As I was _saying_ , when I was done, they were gone. Barf was trying to take off, and Belch wouldn’t let that happen because Belch is the best dragon in the world, am I right, B? Yeah? Who’s the best dragon?”

Belch ambled over, mouth open, tongue out to receive rubs and praise from Tuff, while Barf sulked and looked between Tuffnut and the sky. Hiccup felt sorry for him and went over to rub his chin. “It’s ok, Barf. Ruff’s fine. Just… out for a bit. She'll be back.”

He heard Astrid smother another laugh, this time not as effectively.

“So anyway, H, if you’re done playing favorites with _my dragon_ , Hookfang was gone, and so were Ruff and Snotlout.”

“Right, so as I said,” Hiccup replied, folding his arms. “Shouldn’t we leave them alone? It’s not like she packed the book, did she?”

“No, she didn’t, but we shouldn’t leave them alone H, because as _I_ said, I didn’t take the pages out.”

“But if she doesn’t have the book-“

“Doesn’t matter. Trust me. Snotlout is in grave danger. Or danger of being left in a grave. Either way, we should find him.”

“Ok, Toothless and I will fly back with you to the island you landed on, see if they came back. Astrid, can you head back to Berk to see if they’ve shown up there?”

Astrid nodded.

“Good. We’ll meet back at the academy in a few hours.”

“Which is when, exactly?” Tuffnut looked around. “Is there no sky on this island? What is this place? A skyless island? How did you find it when you were in the sky?”

“How did you find it?”

Hiccup was glad Astrid asked the question, as he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“Oh, Belch can track anything. Especially Ruff. She reeks of fish guts and yak dung most of the time.”

“But she’s not h- we haven’t seen or heard her in the last few hours.” Hiccup stumbled over his reply, but Tuffnut didn’t notice, or he didn’t care.

“She definitely went this way, but Barf made Belch lose the scent. Started bawling or sneezing or whatever that was.”

“Tuff, Zipplebacks don’t really have the ability to track other dragons or scents over long distances,” Hiccup said slowly.

“Well, why was Belch so determined to fly this way?”

“I have no idea,” Hiccup replied. “But the best place to start looking is where you saw them last.”

“I think we should stop at Berk on the way back,” Astrid said, turning toward Stormfly. “Before you go flying off, make sure they didn’t return home already.”

Tuffnut shrugged and headed over to his saddle. “I’m sure they didn’t. Ruffnut had… plans.”

“What kind of plans?”

“You, my good man, do _not_ want to know.”

Hiccup and Astrid raced back to their dragons, who were ready to take off once Barf and Belch leaped into the air.

Astrid’s voice, quiet and sly, reached him as he pulled himself onto Toothless’ saddle. “Actually, I kind of do want to know her plans.”

With a grin, she leaned forward as Stormfly took off. With a shake of his head, Hiccup signaled to Toothless, and they followed both dragons into the clouds.

 

… 

 

In the end, they didn’t have to search for very long. Tuffnut stood up in his saddle as they flew, trying to navigate and search for Hookfang. He only fell off once, to Hiccup’s surprise, but in doing so spotted a flash on the eastern horizon that seemed likely to be a dragon. It turned out to be Hookfang flying directly toward them, or towards Berk, more likely, with both Ruffnut and Snotlout on his back.

Tuffnut flew over their heads and turned Belch upside down so he could yell at his sister. “Ruff! You traitorous traitor!”

“What’d I do?”

“You abandoned your dragon!”

“Oh, Barf, I told you I’d be back. Why didn’t you tell Tuffnut? I told you to tell him.”

Hiccup was about to tell her how unsafe it was to leave Tuffnut behind without telling anyone where she was going when Astrid flew close to get his attention. “Hiccup. Look at Snotlout.”

Snotlout had a frightened expression on his face that was strangely familiar. His cheeks were red, his brows down low over his eyes, and his helmet was pulled forward to try to cover as much of his forehead as possible. His tunic and leggings were soaking wet, though it was hard to tell whether he was sweating or if he’d been dropped in the ocean. His mouth was compressed into a thin, almost invisible line, and his eyes were darting everywhere, looking anywhere but at the other vikings. He looked shocked and terrified.

He looked exactly like Fishlegs had the day Tuffnut started boasting about the Book of Not Dragons.

Hiccup was aghast. “What’d she do to him?”

“Exactly what I’m wondering,” Astrid said, her voice steeped in wicked curiosity.

Hiccup looked at her as the group turned toward Berk. Her laughter floated back toward him over the water, conjuring images in his mind that were dark, and tempting, and hot.


	37. Darkness to Light

The next morning brought an early start and more cooking. Within a few hours, Astrid had done more mixing, baking, folding, wrapping, and storing than she had done in her life - which wasn’t saying much since she disliked preparing food, knowing as she did that she wasn’t very skilled at it. Well, except for the spice drops, which were easy to roll into shape, and fun to make because she knew Hiccup’s ears would turn red if she brought him more of them. Carrying the scent of the spices on her fingers made her smile for hours.

The momentary warmth of that memory was banished by a brisk dose of reality when her mother and Sigrid opened the side door and came in carrying more food to prepare. Sigrid dropped a mammoth wooden bowl of fruit in front of her.

“Chop and cover with mead, Astrid, m’dear,” Sigrid said absently over her shoulder, heading back to the hearth. Knives, chopping - that wasn’t too difficult.

Their home was a riot of pots, bowls, plates, trenchers - anything that could hold food or cook it was in their house, balanced in piles on tables and shelves of varying heights or on the benches parked in front of the hearth. Astrid could barely move around without fear of tipping something, and the wrath of Sigrid if she did kept her in place behind the table in the corner, far from the fire. The heat still reached her, leaving her exhausted with the roots of her hair damp and her shirt stuck to her skin.

But it wasn’t as hot as the forge, her traitorous memory recalled. She felt her face turn red.

“If I chop them now, they’ll turn dark brown,” Astrid said, still picking up her knife to obey Sigrid’s request. Some of the pears were so tender, almost overripe. She couldn’t hold them in her hand for long without bruising or breaking the skin.

“Aye, but we won’t have the time later. That’s what the mead is for.”

Astrid nodded and got to work, but she set aside some of the softest pears for herself and Hiccup, placing them under an overturned bowl so Sigrid wouldn’t notice.

Throughout the morning into early afternoon, most of the women of Berk and some of the men came and went, bringing prepared dishes that could be kept near the fire and wrapped bundles of bread to be served later. Astrid had never seen this much food in one place, and there had been plenty of weddings in Berk.

This wedding was different. The extended family of the bride was journeying from the west, and that family included over 200 people at least. With the typical celebration numbers for a wedding between two prominent families multiplied by that much, well, Berk was going to be crowded for a while.

While she cored and chopped a mountain of fruit, Astrid mentally flew over the village to keep herself from growing bored and frustrated. She knew where the extra tents and lodging would be for the guests, plus the locations for dancing and feasting that would carry on in and around Meade Hall. But what about potential fights, and hiding the tribe armory from the twins and anyone else? What about the dragons? She knew from talking with Hiccup that the visiting tribe wasn’t as fond of the dragons as they were, though they’d stopped killing them after the Great Battle.

Astrid’s mind raced with strategies and solutions for each question. The forge doors and windows would be chained shut, and after the ceremony, most of the dangerous weapons would be locked away as well. Drunk vikings always got into fights, either as entertainment or as an explosion of fury, but they didn’t need weaponry for that. Hard heads would be weaponry enough.

The dragons would be safe, too. They’d take care of themselves and each other, though Hiccup had muttered about his concern for Toothless and his inability to fly very far without someone in the saddle. The stables were going to be stuffed with food and water, and the riders were taking shifts at a second, smaller bonfire nearby to guard against any revelry that included a drunken viking yelling, “I bet I can ride a dragon while standing on my head!”

Unless it was Tuffnut who said it. Then there was nothing they could do except hope he didn’t injure himself too badly when he fell off.

Her mental tour brought her back to Meade Hall, where the ceremony would be, and to Hiccup’s home, the house nearest to the hall. He was lucky, she thought with a small frown. The window in his roof faced the sea, and he could easily fly in and out without anyone noticing, especially when the sky grew dark and the shadows were deeper from all the bonfires and celebratory lanterns on the path to the hall.

Her eyes narrowed. But before she could re-examine her evaluation for flaws, Fishlegs’ mother Turid came in, wringing her hands around a skein of wool and trailing a knotted garment on the floor behind her.

Sigrid focused on her at once, partially to save any precariously balanced plates from being tipped over by the unpredictable twists of what looked like a scarf. Or maybe it was a neck warmer for Belch. Whatever it was, it whipped around the floor with Turid’s agitation.

“Oh, dearie, what’s the matter?”

“My brother….”

“What about him? Is he ill?”

“He’s going to hurt Fishlegs.”

Astrid sat up straight, her knife ready in her hand. Fruit juice might make it slippery but she could still use it if needed.

But a threat didn’t materialize immediately. Sigrid led Turid to a chair and gave her a mug of something to drink.

Astrid, still afraid to maneuver through the room unless she had to, stood up, but remained behind the table. “What makes you say that?”

Sigrid glared at her until she slowly, unwillingly sat back down. Turid took a long drink before speaking. “Ivar’s sailing here with the rest of the family.” Her voice was quiet and sure, and fearful. Ice climbed up Astrid’s spine as she waited for her to continue.

“He’s going to do something to Fishlegs. I don’t know what, but he’s going to hurt him, and I don’t know what to do.”

Sigrid looked at Astrid, then glanced down at the bowl of fruit. Astrid got back to work, but she listened closely.

“Had a vision, did you?”

“No, no, not that. A feeling, like when I know it’ll rain.”

Sigrid nodded and made soothing noises. Astrid grew more tense. Whatever the threat was, it was real. She had to tell Hiccup. She started working faster, chopping and discarding the cores into a second bowl so they could be used for another recipe. After pouring mead over the chopped fruit enough to cover but not drown it all, she stood, cleaning her knife on her skirt as she headed for the door.

“Astrid, where are you going?”

She turned to face her aunt, trying to think of a good reason for her to leave. Sigrid knew the patrol schedule, and knew the feeding schedule for Stormfly, too. 

Turid spoke first, her voice calm. “She has to go, Sigrid. Let her.”

Astrid was out the door before Sigrid could answer.

 

…

 

After looking over at the academy for any sign of Toothless and seeing no movement at all, she ran for Hiccup’s house and threw open the door, calling his name.

To her mortification, Hiccup wasn’t there. But Stoick was.

He didn’t act surprised, but she knew her appearance had to have startled him. His voice was calm, and a little amused. “Afternoon, Astrid.” 

If the gods could allow her to disappear at that moment, or to undo the last minute, she’d be very grateful.

It didn’t happen. She stood in the doorway, mouth open in shock, frozen with indecision.

Stoick didn’t seem angry, at least, and Hiccup had said he’d been testy lately. He seemed normal - big, imposing, aware of everything around him - but Stoick was always kind to her, like he understood her.

“I’m sorry, sir-“

“Hiccup’s not here. Everything alright? Something you needed?”

Like it was normal for her to fly into their home without knocking.

Well, it was sort of normal. More normal than she wanted to think about because her face was already burning red. “I, uh, I was looking for Hiccup.”

“Aye. Got that.” His beard twitched and she’d swear he was trying not to laugh, which only made her more agitated.

Then his eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong, Astrid?”

“Sir, I’m… I’m not sure.” She remained in the open doorway, her hands tightening into fists. It seemed perfectly logical to tell Hiccup that Fishlegs’ mother was pretty sure her brother was going to do something to hurt Fishlegs, all based on a feeling, but saying the same to Stoick seemed embarrassingly ludicrous.

After a long moment, Stoick nodded once, dropping his chin to his chest and looking at her from beneath lowered brows. She felt about five years old when he did that. “Hiccup’s in the forge, most likely. You’ll find him there.”

“Thank you, sir. And sor-“

“No apologies needed. Off ye go.”

Astrid nodded, turned, and ran to the forge, barely remembering to close the door behind her. Her humiliation made excellent fuel for her run, and she made it in moments, but again, she was disappointed.

“Oh, he just left," Gobber said, wiping his forehead with a rag. "Headed over to the academy, I think.”

Astrid sighed. “I should have gone there first.”

By the time she reached the academy, she was sweaty, tired, and very irritated, with herself and with Hiccup for being so difficult to find. Her frustration grew when she found Snotlout, the twins, and Fishlegs in the training area as well.

She couldn’t tell Fishlegs about what his mother had said. If she wanted him to know, she’d have told him, and he didn't look out of sorts or nervous. His mother probably hadn't told him. Instead, Turid had gone to Sigrid - and Astrid wasn’t sure at all why she’d done so.

Hiccup glanced up from the saddle he was repairing, then looked again when he saw the expression on her face. He made a move to stand up, but before he could speak, she shook her head, gesturing with a slight lift of her nose toward Fishlegs. Hiccup frowned, but knelt back down and didn’t say anything.

Astrid looked at everyone. “Is there practice I didn’t know about?”

Tuffnut hung upside down from one of the pieces of training equipment, dodging his sister’s attempts to pin his hair to the target behind his head “No. I don’t think so. Maybe? Is that why you ran here, thinking you were about to miss out? Because you were!”

Ruffnut stopped, an arrowhead a few inches from Tuffnut’s forehead. “She was?”

“Yes! You’re all about to miss out.”

Snotlout stood up, glaring. “Don’t even start, you muttonhead.”

“No, Tuff, do tell. What will we be missing?” Fishlegs’ smile had an edge, because any opportunity to potentially irritate Snotlout was not one he was going to miss.

Beneath the cacophony of arguing, Astrid moved closer to Hiccup.

He looked up from the saddle, examining her face closely for a moment before looking back at his work. “What’s wrong?”

“We need to talk. But not with Fishlegs here.”

“Um… ok.”

He didn’t question her, and the tightness around her heart relaxed a little. He stood up, rubbing his hand over his hair. “Fishlegs, uh, where’s Meatlug?”

“Meatlug? Probably in the stables. Why?”

“I have, uh, a saddle attachment, um, for the wedding, and I want to see if it fits. Can you go bring her over?”

Fishlegs’ face lit up. “Oh, she’ll be so excited, her own jewelry for the wedding. We can’t wait.”

Snotlout looked confused, and a little mad. “Wait, I thought the dragons weren’t allowed at the ceremony. How come he gets to bring Meatlug?”

“Meatlug, I’ll have you know, is an honored _guest_ , as part of the Ingermann family.”

“That is so not fair!”

“Well, Snotlout,” Fishlegs said as he headed out of the academy, Snotlout on his heels. “When you get married, if you do, you can invite Hookfang. Maybe he’ll decide to attend.”

Snotlout froze in mid-step. Then his neck flushed a dark red, and he took off after Fishlegs, yelling something about inviting all the dragons.

The twins were still hanging around - well, one of them was. Ruff was still trying to pin a target behind her brother's head and shoot one of his braids. Hiccup stood slowly and with a subtle tilt of his head, indicated that he was headed to the storage room.

When she followed him inside, the drop into darkness was so abrupt from the bright sun reflecting off the academy walls that for a few breaths, she couldn’t see anything.

Which is why she didn’t know Hiccup had moved close to her until she felt him tip her chin up with one hand, then kiss her.

She felt shocked and angry - shocked that he’d snuck up on her, angry that she hadn’t heard him - and then flooded with heat. There was such familiarity in his kiss, in the moment when his lips met hers, she felt like she’d just arrived home. The touch of his hand, the warmth of his body near hers, the way his mouth moved quickly but decisively over hers combined to soothe the old agitation and create a new one in seconds.

Then the heat lifted and spread, filled her, and she reached up to pull him closer, tilting her head to deepen their kiss, seeking the hot slide of his tongue against hers. Familiar and dangerous. She must have kissed him hundreds of times by now, and had explored some of the hidden parts of his body besides. Now the intensity she recognized was mixed with something new, 

They both seemed to realize where and how they were, and slowly moved apart.

He smelled different, she realized as he turned away.

“New soap?”

“Wh- what?”

Good thing it was dark. She was embarrassing herself every hour on the hour.

“You - there’s a… you smell different.”

“Oh, um. Yeah.” At least she wasn’t alone. He sounded plenty embarrassed, too, his voice tightening and rising in pitch. He turned and looked through the spare equipment on the shelf on the wall, picking up and dropping several small metal items with enough carelessness that they thunked against the wood when they landed. That wasn’t like him. What was he looking for?

Before she could ask, he spoke again. “What did you need to talk to me about?”

Her eyes had adjusted enough that she could just barely see the shape of his body turning away from the equipment shelf and leaning against the wall near where she stood, facing her with his arms folded over his chest.

“Fishleg’s mother came running to Sigrid this morning that something was going to happen to Fishlegs during the wedding.”

His body was still. Hiccup’s expression, what of it she could see, didn’t change, but he didn’t speak, either.

“She said it was a feeling, like when she knows it’s going to rain or snow, and Sigrid seemed to believe her. I figured….”

She’d figured what, exactly? That there was news, a potential threat, and she had to tell him? She felt uncommonly stupid in that moment. Turid had a feeling that something was going to happen to her son, whom she worried about incessantly anyway, and now Astrid was running all over the village like they were under attack at that moment.

Hiccup sighed slowly. She felt even more ridiculous. After spending the majority of the day cramped in a corner, chopping everything Sigrid had thrown at her and hoping her mother would stay out of the house as long as possible, she must have been starving for something, anything to do, and now she’d made a fool out of herself. At least she hadn’t told Stoick. Then she’d really feel ridiculous.

“She’s rarely wrong,” Hiccup said, his voice low and considering, almost as if he’d heard her thoughts, heard her castigating herself.

She had gone to Hiccup, because he needed to know. Because the two of them could figure out what to do.

“No, she’s not. She didn’t say anything more than that, but I figured...."

“Yeah, we need to keep watch over Fishlegs and Meatlug.”

Astrid sighed and shook her head.

“What’s wrong?”

She forgot - Hiccup could see in the darkness much better than she could. His eyes adjusted quickly, and he could probably see her perfectly, while he was mostly shadows. She could make out his hair, the gleam of his smile, the position of his body, but she couldn’t see any details of his flight suit.

“I just… nothing.”

“Nothing?”

Instead of answering, she turned and moved towards him. Without hesitation, his arms opened and she stepped into the space he made for her, resting her forehead against his neck and allowing the familiar warmth and comfort erase some of her agitation.

“Spending the entire day in my house cooking everything that isn’t still alive or inedible is exhausting.”

He nodded, his hand moving from the back of her head down over her braid, then beneath it to stroke her back. “I was in the forge most of the day. I know how you feel.”

“Yeah, but you belong there. You know what to do.”

“You don’t belong in your house?”

She nudged him, smiling briefly. “No, I meant all the cooking. Sigrid is running herself in circles around me. The minute I finish something there are five more tasks for me to do. My fake cooking lessons are way too real at this point.”

He laughed. “The wedding will be over soon enough, and things will go back to normal.”

Normal sounded good. Better than good, actually. Normal sounded like long flights with him, with the group, cooking on the bonfire tower, taking walks after they ate, and trees. Especially trees.

Voices reached them both inside the storage room and she pushed away from him and moved to the wooden rack that held their saddles just as Fishlegs and Meatlug entered the chamber. Meatlug was shiny, so much so that even in the darkness, she gleamed.

“Fishlegs, why is Meatlug glittering?”

“Oh, Meatlug wouldn’t be content with just _being_ at the wedding. She has to shine!”

“Shine,” Hiccup repeated.

“Yes, of course," Fishlegs replied as if it were obvious why his dragon was gleaming more than any sword on the island. "I rubbed Gobber’s yak polish on her, along with some oil, so she’ll be the most lustrous, elegant dragon at the wedding.”

Astrid shook her head. “Fishlegs, she’s going to be the only dragon at the wedding.”

“Well, yeah, but still, she has to look her best. Don’t you, girl?” Meatlug’s tongue dangled toward the ground as she tilted her head toward Fishlegs, a blissful expression on her face.

“I hope you don’t try to ride her between now and the wedding, Fishlegs. You’ll fall right off.”

Snotlout chose that moment to enter the storage area. “What is Fishlegs falling off of and how can I help?”

Fishlegs rolled his eyes and murmured to Meatlug. “Ignore him. He just doesn’t see.”

“I don’t see what?” Snotlout’s voice turned a little menacing as he stalked toward Fishlegs. Fishlegs refused to be intimidated and held his ground. Meatlug lowered her head, almost glaring. It was the most ferocious expression Astrid had seen on her face.

Suddenly Snotlout stopped. “What is that _smell?”_

Fishlegs looked confused.

Astrid looked nervously at Hiccup, wondering if Snotlout had noticed the same thing she had.

“Oh, it’s yak polish,” Fishlegs said, his voice just condescending enough to provoke Snotlout’s temper. “Meatlug will be the best looking dragon at the wedding.”

“Ok, ok,” Hiccup said, holding his hands out to placate them before anyone, probably Snotlout, did something stupid. “Everyone back into the academy. I have some-“

“Yes! Meatlug’s saddle decorations! I can’t wait to see,” Fishlegs exclaimed, following Meatlug out into the sunshine. Snotlout sneered but left as well, though he glanced over his shoulder to make sure Astrid and Hiccup were behind him.

They were, but Hiccup stopped Astrid with a hand on her elbow. “Listen, Astrid, I… there’s….” He sighed, then rubbed the top of his head, a sure sign he was unsure of himself and agitated about it.

She waited. “What?”

He took a deep breath, blew it out, and spoke in a rush. “I made these for you but I have to put them on Fishlegs’ saddle and I’m sorry but it’s the only thing I can think of.”

She stood, shocked, then followed him as he turned and headed through the large doorway. What was he talking about?

She figured it out soon enough when Hiccup helped Fishlegs put Meatlug’s saddle on, then pulled two metal circles from his pocket.

Fishlegs practically vibrated with joy as Hiccup knelt near Meatlug’s chest and started adjusting the metal studs on her shoulder. “Oh, Hiccup, they’re going to look wonderful.”

Snotlout folded his arms and smirked. “Since when do you make saddle jewelry, anyway?”

Hiccup shrugged with one shoulder, and Astrid watched as a deep red flush moved up the back of his neck toward his ears. He unlaced some of the ties that held Meatlug’s saddle across her wide body, and threaded one of the loops through the metal.

They were bracelets.

He’d made them for her.

She couldn’t see too clearly, but it looked like they were inlaid with a looping pattern similar to Finn’s metalwork, only instead of blackened metal, the silver shined against something golden.

He’d made her bracelets, uncommonly beautiful ones.

They were being used to decorate a dragon, but he’d made them for her.

He’d made her jewelry.

A hot, bubbly joy spread through her chest. So that’s what he’d been looking for on the equipment shelf. Something to add to Meatlug’s saddle. And because he’d cleaned out the supply room recently, there wasn’t anything he could use.

She covered her mouth with her hand so no one would see the smile she couldn’t hold back. Hiccup glanced up at her, his gaze moving from her eyes to her hand, then back to her eyes.

He winked at her, then stood up and spoke to Meatlug. “I, uh, I think she’s too oily for me to properly fit the saddle. Let me… let me work on making these easier to attach without undoing the lacing too much.”

“Oh, of course! I can’t really fly with her, now that she’s had her beauty treatment. Too slippery.”

“What? _Beauty_ treatment?” Snotlout howled, bending over in laughter. 

“Ignore her, girl.” Fishlegs’ glare didn’t look any different, but when he spoke again, his voice had an edge Astrid hadn’t heard before. “He can’t appreciate the finer things, even when they’re in front of him.”

Snotlout’s laugh died so quickly it echoed in the sudden stillness, and he took a step toward Fishleg. “What are you talking about, Fishface?”

Astrid was about to step between them when Ruffnut landed as if she’d dropped out of the sky, right in front of Snotlout. Her voice was teasing and grabbed Snotlout’s attention immediately. “Hey, want to see what we’re building over here?”

Fishlegs and Hiccup looked as dumbfounded as she felt as Ruff lead an eager Snotlout to the other side of the academy where Tuffnut was still hanging upside down from one of the training targets, though not by choice. Ruff had figured out a way to tie his feet to the beam and he was trying to release himself.

The sun moved behind a cloud, one of the few in the sky, and the sharp glaring sunlight bouncing off the academy walls dulled and dissipated, making it easier to see. Hiccup watched the twins for a moment, then looked at Astrid, waiting for her opinion. She felt his gaze, but didn’t look toward him yet. There weren’t any obvious signs of immediate danger, not greater than the normal levels that surrounded the twins, anyway, so she shrugged when she turned and her eyes met his. He rolled his eyes and shook his head abruptly, and their wordless conversation continued as Fishlegs led Meatlug out of the academy.

Hiccup gathered the saddle he'd been working on and the tools he’d been using and moved into the storage area. She followed him. This time, she could see him clearly, as the difference between outside and in wasn’t so drastic.

He must not have heard Astrid follow him because he flinched when she spoke.

“Those were for me?”

His head dropped, as if he were looking down at himself or at the floor. “Uh, yeah. I, um, yeah. They were. Are.”

She wrapped her arms around him from behind and leaned her cheek on his shoulder. “Thank you.”

He pulled her arms away from his waist a little so he could turn to face her. His strength still surprised her sometimes, caught her off guard, and she was still reveling in the intensity and power that he seemed to keep hidden from everyone when he pulled her closer to him.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t think of something better to use.”

Astrid didn’t care at all, except that she hadn’t gotten a chance to look closely. “Can I see?”

He reached into one of the pockets of his flight suit and pulled out two round bracelets made of hammered metal. She took them and moved closer to the doorway. They were beautiful. The inside was smooth and shiny, carefully polished, while the outside was deeply engraved with swirls and patterns she recognized, the carved areas filled with a golden metal.

“Where did you get the bronze?”

He stood close to her, his forehead nearly touching hers, watching as she examined the patterns, tracing the lines with one fingertip. “Remember the stabbed dragon that used to be in Meade Hall?”

Astrid looked up, nearly knocking her head into his. “The one with the sword in its belly? That huge one? I thought that was melted down ages ago.”

“It was, but I saved some of the smaller pieces. I didn’t know what to do with them… until today, anyway.”

She followed a curving line around the edge of the bracelet, feeling tiny leaves on each side beneath her fingers. Finn’s vine. And there was a tiny axe, buried in what might be a tree, the bark a pattern made of etched bronze. She smiled, then looked up at him. Touching his chin as he’d done earlier, she brought his mouth down to hers and kissed him once, then again when once wasn’t nearly enough.

“Thank you.”

He shrugged, and she could almost feel the heat of his embarrassment. “Like I said, I’m sorry I didn’t think faster. I don-“

She kissed him again. “Doesn’t matter who wears them. You made them for me.”

He looked dazed, and appeared to have forgotten what he was about to say. “Yes. I did.” He opened his mouth to say more when Tuffnut appeared in the doorway. She didn't move away from Hiccup. 

“Guys! I’m free! The world is right side up again! Or maybe I was right side up and you were all… upside down.” He looked at them with suspicion.

“I think we’re ok, Tuffnut,” Hiccup replied.

Astrid laughed under her breath. When they left the storage area a moment later, Hiccup shut and locked the door behind them. She still held the bracelets in her hands, unwilling to let them go.

“Can I keep one?”

“One?”

“Yes, you know, one. Half of two?”

Hiccup’s mouth opened and closed a few times, his flush deepening. “Of c- course. Please. I’d - yes, please do. I can attach the other one to Meatlug’s saddle.”

“Ah, I’ll be paired with Meatlug by jewelry. Perfect.”

Hiccup, she noticed, swallowed hard, but didn’t reply.


	38. Counting Down Days and Hours

Afternoons lasted for days that time of year. Anyone waiting for the sun to signal the end of working hours would be waiting a long time, and Hiccup was no exception. After the group had left the academy, he’d walked every inch of Berk - or it felt that way - returning weapons, picking up items to be brought to one place or another, intervening in discussions and potential arguments. Everywhere he looked, there was something more to do. He shifted his stance, subtly adjusting the pressure on his prosthetic leg, and moved his work to a higher table in the forge.

Most of Berk was still outside. He could hear them, the background orchestra of his extended family. Voices called from the harbor up the cliffs, men shouted and cursed quiet or loudly as they carried supplies, or, in one dramatic moment, dropped a lot of something very heavy onto the docks below. The forge was not in the center of the village, but it overlooked the water and faced the main route to Meade Hall, so unless a mammoth fire in the forge hearth drowned out the villagers with its roar, Hiccup could hear pretty much everything that was going on.

He kept working, his shirt sticking to his skin, his apron darkened with smears of polish and soot. It sounded like everyone was still roaming all over Berk, except for him. Even Gobber had found somewhere else to be. Hiccup had heard Ruff and Tuff overhead, flying toward the water on patrol, fighting about whose turn it was to steer Barf and Belch. Snotlout had been absent, but was probably off by himself, checking the gardens or avoiding whatever work he’d been assigned. He’d show up again when there was food to eat.

Hiccup hadn’t seen any of the other riders for more than a few minutes since they'd left the academy. Fishlegs had stopped by with a small shield for him to polish, apologetic and thankful for Hiccup’s time. Fishlegs knew probably better than most how busy Hiccup was. Fishlegs might have more to do than Hiccup did, now that he thought about it - it was Fishlegs' mother's wedding after all. And he had to keep Turid away from her sewing lest she decide everyone needed new garments and that only she could make them. In the two days they had left.

There was a lot to do in those two days, even without unneeded new clothing. And Hiccup had one more task facing him, one that had been staring him down all afternoon. He had to figure out how to decorate Meatlug’s saddle with a ring of metal similar enough that Fishlegs or the other riders wouldn’t notice that it wasn’t the same one they’d seen that afternoon. But he’d spent days on the two he’d made for Astrid, and didn’t have enough time to make a copy. The metal engraving and carving was painstaking work, and he could only complete a finger’s width on a new bracelet in the time he had left.

Plus, he kept getting interrupted. The minute he’d focus, concentrating enough so that the backdrop of Berk’s voices fell away and it was just him, his mind, and the project in front of him, he’d be yanked out of his work by another voice calling his name.

“Hiccup, m’lad, can you sharpen this knife quickly like? Sorry t’bother ye, but I can’t cut the ropes bringing in all the supplies. Blade’s gone flat.”

“Hiccup! Oh, thank Odin you’re here! I dropped the family sword and I’m dead if anyone finds out!”

“Hiccup, ye have a moment for a wee bit a’sharpening fer me?”

Hiccup made time for everyone, and hid the roll of his eyes and the scowl he felt inside. Sharpening was never a “wee job” or anything that happened “quickly like.” And if he didn’t do a good enough job, if the person carrying the weapon didn’t take note of the dull finish of the edge, then Gobber, or worse, Stoick would notice and he’d never hear the the end of it. He’d sharpened and listened to stories of what was going on outside in the sun. It turned out that Sven had been the one who dropped a barrel of ale off the cliff, hence the high pitched shriek that had accompanied the crash. The barrel hadn’t broken anything on the way down, but many were mourning the tankards lost to the sea.

He honed the edges and polished the steel of too many weapons, desperate to get back to his own work. Did everyone just find a sword under the bed and remember it needed sharpening? Is that what was happening?Hiccup didn’t know, but finally, eventually he was alone, with no footsteps approaching the forge, no chips to file down, no edges to hold against the sharpening stone, no "wee favors" to fill the next hour and a half.

Maybe now he could focus, stop thinking of words to say in conversation, and go back to the work in front of him. All the interruptions, the constant cracking of his concentration, it was making him irritable. He didn’t want to be sharp or cross with anyone.

He just wanted to be left alone so he could….

Hiccup started to laugh at himself.

He needed to be alone so he could make a counterfeit bracelet to decorate a dragon for a wedding.

This, apparently, was his life now.

With a sigh, he shook his head and pulled his sketchbook closer. If he - where’d the hammer go? Hiccup looked around, stepping back from the table to find the sun had moved enough to slant light nearly sideways across the forge. Dust and bits of soot danced in the air, then spun into a twisting riot as he searched for the hammer. He’d just had it. Where….

“Hiccup?”

“Yeah, in here,” he called, trying not to let his impatience show in his voice as he pushed the pieces of Meatlug’s saddle accessories under his sketchbook. “Come on in.”

A few seconds later, a large, bashful man squeezed through the side door, pressing his hands together fitfully and looking around as if he wasn’t sure what he was doing there. Hiccup stopped looking for his hammer, instantly concerned.

“Hey, Hoark. What’s going on?”

“Oh, nice fire ye got going here.”

Hiccup’s suspicion increased. No one came to the forge on a warm, sunny day to talk about the forge fire. Not even Hoark.

“Yeah, well, the fire... is pretty nice. Can I help you with something? Are you ok?”

“Oh, aye, I’m just fine. I, uh, I needed….” Hoark looked around as if he were trying to identify the reason he’d come to the forge. Hiccup scrambled to think of the right question to ask, because if Hoark made up some task he needed help with, depending on what he chose, he and Hiccup might be occupied with nonsense for hours.

“You look, uh, you look tired. Want to sit down a minute? Have something to drink?”

Hoark blinked at him, and Hiccup was sure he’d refuse. It wasn’t normal, inviting someone to have a seat and relax in the forge. It was always hot and unpleasant - which is part of why Hiccup had come to love it there. Not for the heat or discomfort, but the fact that everyone stayed away. With the exception of Gobber, everyone left the forge and, by extension, Hiccup alone.

“You always know just what to ask, Hiccup. Thank ye.”

It was Hiccup’s turn to blink and look confused. But per his word, he grabbed a cup, filled it with water from the pitcher in his workroom, far from the fire, and handed it to Hoark, who leaned against the table on the back wall, still looking worried.

The interruption proved useful, at least. The hammer had been with the water jug. Carrying it back to his work in progress, Hiccup, after a moment’s hesitation, began working on Meatlug’s saddle ring, looking up at Hoark periodically to see if he wanted to talk about whatever was on his mind.

This was new. Usually people didn’t seek him out to talk about things. He wasn’t particularly good at talking - or dealing with people. That was his dad’s area. Stock had a whole day set aside each week so the people of Berk could come and talk at him about problems they were having. The entire idea made Hiccup want to hide in the forge and never come out - so much _talking_.

No, the villagers usually came to see Hiccup when there was a dragon problem, or some mechanical problem, or a mechanical problem caused by a dragon. He could design all sorts of functional solutions, and manage all sorts of dragons, but people problems were a whole other thing. His dad’s thing. Not his.

But here was Hoark, looking more relaxed having lukewarm water in the hot forge, sitting quietly while Hiccup made dragon accessories.

Today was a little weird, he supposed.

Everything was a little weird lately.

“Yer right about that, me lad.”

Hiccup hadn’t realized he’d muttered aloud, but he did tend to talk to himself while he was working, as Astrid liked to tease him. His ears burned.

“Anything…anything on your mind? Did you need something sharpened?”

“Oh, no, you and Gobber did a right good job with the crossbow. It’s magnificent - so proud to use it. Thank ye again.”

Hiccup nodded and pulled the box of spare metal pieces across the table, carefully pulling out any that looked like copper, or were dark and reddish in color.

“I’m, ah, well, ye see, Hiccup….” Hoark looked down at his cup and Hiccup could see his jaw flex.

“Hoark, I, uh, I don’t know what’s going on but, um, anything you say, I won’t share it unless-“

Hoark held up one hand. “I know that. I know all that. I’m just not sure what I think is a problem is really a problem.”

Hiccup stood still, considering, then nodded slowly at Hoark. “You’re worried about Turid and that her brother will attack Fishlegs.”

Hoark’s mouth dropped open. “How in Thor’s name did ye know that?”

Hiccup’s face flushed so deeply he knew Hoark could see it, and sure enough, gave Hoark the answer.

“Aaah - that’s right. Turid went to tell Sigrid. I should have known you and Astrid were already on it.” Hiccup tried to interrupt but Hoark stood, a wide smile on his face, his shoulders relaxed and his hands no longer kneading themselves into a knot. “That’s a load off my mind, and ye know it. Thanks again, Hiccup!”

And Hoark sailed out the door, no worry shadowing his face.

Bracing his hands on the edge of the desk, Hiccup looked down and blew out a breath. He had no idea if anyone had told Stoick about Turid’s fear that her brother Ivar was going to hurt Fishlegs. And he had no idea if anyone had suggested she _talk_ to her brother, or if Ivar was even on Berk yet. He might still be on his way, crossing the ocean from the villages far north of them.

It was one thing for Astrid to be sure that Turid was right, or for Hoark to believe her. But he should probably tell Stoick. And saying all this to his dad, when he knew Stoick was surrounded by a list of tasks to accomplish that was ten times as big as his own…. Hiccup shook his head. Not a good idea. Even if Stoick did believe him, and believed Turid - which he surely would, after all - there wasn’t any way to greet Ivar and find out what he planned to do. They had to wait and see, really. Hiccup didn’t want to tell Stoick about everything now - it would only make Stoick more irritable, having to worry about defense and attack when he was more worried about feeding a few hundred extra drunken vikings for upwards of a week.

Hiccup focused on the circle of metal in front of him, and within a few moments, again, everything else fell away. Hammering, crimping, heating metal and pouring it over the circlet and then starting again became the entirety of his awareness. That and the rapid sorting of details in the back of his mind, like where people would be standing during the wedding, what Ivar was likely to carry into the Great Hall, what weapons, if any, were likely to be available if he did have something planned. Ivar had visited Berk a handful of times, and Hiccup had met him once, but Ivar had never been hostile to anyone that he knew of. There hadn’t been any stories of Ivar the Poorly Mannered or Ivar the Drunken Idiot with a Black Eye after one of his visits, either.

Hiccup shrugged, using tongs to flip the circlet of metal over so he could polish the side that would be against the saddle leather. If it slipped, he didn’t want the edges to cut Meatlug’s hide. She was a dragon, but her chest and belly weren’t as protected as her back or her tail.

He’d done as much as he could about whatever problem Ivar presented. Turid knew, and maybe she'd talk to her brother before he did anything stupid. Not likely, but maybe it would happen. Hoark knew, so he’d be looking out for Fishlegs and his mother. Astrid knew - she’d come to Hiccup first - so she’d probably have four or five different battle schematics drawn up in her head for various scenarios before, after, and during the wedding. He couldn’t craft small weapons in enough time, not if he was designing dragon decorations, he thought with a wry smile. And they couldn’t carry full-size weaponry into the wedding. That wouldn’t be allowed.

Astrid would know how to hide weapons, though. She was armed constantly. He’d nearly stabbed himself once with a thin spear of metal she sometimes hid inside her braid. She would have ideas how to protect them all in any situation.

He’d see her at the bonfire in a few hours. He’d ask her then.

He ignored the heat that clenched his stomach for a moment.

Setting aside the cloth he’d been using to wipe away the last of the polish from the metal, he picked up the flat circle of metal and examined it. It was similar to the pair he’d made for Astrid - again he ignored that hot spark low in his belly - but stronger, better suited for decorating a large dragon’s saddle. It didn’t have the same intricate engraving, but he’d combined two dissimilar metals that contrasted nicely, and had managed to carve a few edges and rudimentary shapes into the front surface - a square book representing Fishlegs, some rocks of different sizes for Meatlug, and a pattern of dots in a scarf-like shape for Turid. He ran his fingertip over the carvings, making sure there were no edges sharp enough to hurt the dragon or her rider.

He was exhausted, and pleased with himself. He hadn’t needed the extra work, but it would mean a lot to Fishlegs, given his reaction to the idea earlier in the day. And Meatlug was, he thought with a smile as he removed his apron, an honored guest of the wedding.

Hiccup stretched, then scratched his hair with one hand as he cleaned up and put away the tools he’d used, then spread the fire so it would burn through the night but not at a dangerous level. He’d build it back up to a loud, consistent roar early the next morning.

He was washing his face before changing his shirt when he heard the door to the forge shut. No one called his name but he sighed, sure that another neighbor needed a wee sharpening, just a quick edge on a weapon larger than both his arms. He dried off and turned toward the door of his workroom.

Hiccup froze.

“Astrid.”

 

…

 

Without thinking about it, she crossed the room, put one hand on his shoulder, lifted herself onto her toes a very small amount because he wasn’t really that much taller than she was, and kissed him on the mouth. His face was cool, his shirt warm but damp at the collar, and kissing him in his workroom stirred wonderful, dangerous memories in her mind.

“Hi, there. I’ve come to bring you to the bonfire.”

“Bonfire?”

“Hiccup, it’s way past dinner time.”

“It is?”

She shook her head at him. Shifting the covered bowl she carried so that it was held against her hip, she reached out and took his hand. “Come on.”

He pulled away, and she frowned. “Give me a - Wait, you - I have to….”

She raised her brows at him, lowering her chin as she waited for him to finish one of the three sentences he’d started. Why was he being hesitant? “When’s the last time you ate?”

He shrugged. She rolled her eyes at him. “So let’s go. Bonfire. Food, lots of it. Ruff and Tuff brought sweets.”

“Where’d they get them?”

“Better not to ask.” She took his hand again but he stepped back.

“I have to change my shirt - I’ve been in here all afternoon.”

She shrugged, refusing to let the heat that filled her body show in her expression. “Go ahead.”

He looked at her, then turned, shaking his head. He grabbed the neckline behind his head to pull the green wool forward over his shoulders, and Astrid’s mouth went dry. She knew her eyes widened and she knew she was staring, even though he couldn't see her face. She knew what his body looked like, most of it, anyway, had explored it with her fingertips and at some very memorable moments with her tongue and teeth. But seeing the curve of the muscles of his hips, the ridge of his abdomen, and the multiple constellations of freckles scattered across his skin still and always brought all thought and movement to an abrupt halt.

With his shirt on, rumpled and smudged with soot, his hair just as mussed as his clothing, he looked like Hiccup. And without his shirt he … still looked like Hiccup, but it was like a secret, a hidden, uncharted discovery only she knew about, one she hadn’t explored enough, one that no one realized was there. The coiled, hardened strength of him was concealed by loose clothing, leggings, aprons, and his flight armor. Everyone knew he was stubborn, just like his father, though it was wiser to refrain from saying so out loud where either of them might hear.

Everyone in Berk and even beyond their island knew Hiccup was strong enough to train dragons, strong enough to fight the Red Death, strong enough to… change everything.

But only Astrid knew how strong he was physically, how much power and resilience was coiled inside his body.

She watched as he folded the shirt over the back of a chair and grabbed a clean one off the shelf. He wasn’t looking at her. If she wasn’t mistaken, it looked like his cheeks were reddening, like he was embarrassed.

He turned away from her her, and the line of his back, the shifting muscles of his shoulders and arms were hidden from view abruptly as he pulled on his shirt in an unfortunate hurry.

It didn’t matter. She knew the hidden parts, knew the places she’d explored and wanted to explore again. When he finally turned around and looked at her, he looked puzzled for a moment, and Astrid wondered what her expression had revealed.

Seeing him like this made her knees weak, a thought that both infuriated and inflamed her.

She probably showed more of the fury than the fire - no wonder he looked alarmed.

Dropping the bowl onto his desk with a low clatter, she reached forward, grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him toward her, kissing him with lips, tongue, teeth, with all the heat she felt inside her body.

His kiss answered hers, his hands resting on her upper arms, then one hand sliding slowly, almost cautiously, into her hair, beneath her braid. She must have looked more angry than she thought.

They broke apart, and she was about to speak when her stomach growled with embarrassing insistence.

Hiccup smiled at her. “So, you had a plan?”

“I did?” She tried to remember what she’d been thinking before he took his shirt off.

“Bonfire? Food? Lots of it?”

“Yes. That is the plan.”

“Let’s go.” He picked up the bowl she’d been carrying and handed it to her.

She held it in the curve of her arm, and reached out again to take his hand. This time he didn’t pull away.


	39. Runaway

Astrid sat on a bench, a plate of food on her lap, Hiccup beside her, watching the other riders bicker, tell jokes, and talk about everything and nothing. It was pretty much a perfect evening. Almost perfect.

Perfect would mean there were fewer people with her.

Which reminded her to look up and ask the group a question. “Anyone want company on patrol tonight? I’ve got a late night ahead of me.”

Ruffnut looked up at her, brows low over her eyes, the expression she wore when she was about to drop Tuffnut like a stone. “Why? I’m on the schedule tonight. With Snotlout.”

Astrid had tipped her weight forward to the edge of the bench, instinctively anticipating attack based on Ruff’s expression, but at Ruffnut’s words she leaned back, gesturing with one hand. “Oh, never mind, then. You guys go patrol. I’ll… do something else.”

“Why a late night?” Snotlout’s leer dripped from his words like seaweed.

“Sigrid and my mom told me to stay out for awhile.”

Ruffnut’s eyes widened. “Oh, no. You want to go home. Right now. Well, soon. As soon as possible.”

Astrid frowned. “Why?”

“Because,” Ruff replied, rolling her eyes like Astrid was beyond stupid for missing something so obvious. “Turid and my mom are going to your house tonight.”

“Okaaaay?”

“They’re going to talk about _everything._ ”

Out of the corner of her eye, Astrid saw Hiccup’s face turn toward them, felt his attention like a touch to her skin. She wondered if she should change the subject before Ruffnut said something embarrassing.

But it was Tuffnut who joined the conversation and made her cheeks burn. “Oh, yeah. You don’t want to miss that conversation. Seriously, I’d go home now, hide on the roof and listen in.”

Ruffnut scoffed at him. “She doesn’t have to hide on her own roof.”

“I would.”

She punched him in the arm. “No hiding on Astrid’s roof, you dummy. You’ll fall off, and you’ll die if…. Wait. Hang on. Maybe that’s a good idea. You should go, too.”

“Ha, how little you know, sister mine. _I_ have plans of my own. And they don’t involve roofs. The great sale is tonight!”

Ruff rolled her eyes again and began arguing with her brother, but she was drowned out by Snotlout, who bellowed so loud the few seagulls who had been hoping for scraps took off in a cloud of their own squawking. “You cannot sell those pages! They’re _mine._ ”

“Oh, no, they are most certainly _not_ , my short friend.” Tuff patted Snotlout on the helmet and turned away from him. Astrid sat forward again, and felt Hiccup shift his weight, too. Given how red Snotlout’s face was, Astrid was a little afraid Tuff was in real danger.

Snotlout launched himself upright, arms out, but Tuff stepped away from him, toward the light of the fire as he demanded their collective attention. To Astrid’s surprise, Ruffnut slid down the bench, grabbed Snotlout’s shirt, and pulled him back to sit beside her, hissing in his ear a stream of angry words that Astrid couldn’t quite make out. Whatever she said, he calmed down.

Tuft began posturing and making strange gestures as he explained, or tried to explain, whatever his plan was, but Astrid was distracted, first by Ruffnut calming Snotlout down, then, even stranger, Ruffnut coming to sit beside her.

“Seriously, Astrid. Go home. Trust me on this.”

Astrid shook her head. “Ruff. Explain. What ‘everything’ are they talking about?”

“How do you not know this?”

Astrid waved one hand to signal to Ruff to lower her voice, and to her shock, Ruff nodded and leaned closer. She didn’t smell like she had hidden more smoked fish in her hair, so Astrid tipped her head toward Ruff’s whisper.

“Turid said she couldn’t have everyone to her house because Fishlegs would hear. So Sigrid said they should have their gathering at _your_ house. You have to be there. You can’t miss it.”

“Miss what. What gathering?”

Ruffnut pulled away and looked at Astrid skeptically. “Has no one in your family ever gotten married?”

Astrid lowered her chin and looked pointedly at Ruff.

“Right. Not since your parents, I guess. And you weren’t around then.”

“Ah, no. No, I wasn’t.”

“Wow. I can’t believe you don’t know about this.”

“Know about _what?_ ” Astrid was about to reach for her axe.

“They’re going to talk. All night. About what Turid can do to keep Hoark satisfied the whole time they’re, you know, in happy seclusion?” Ruff wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, then leaned closer. “And, of course, _afterward_. You know, all the extra pages.”

“Extra pages?”

Ruff snorted. “Yeah, the ones I took out of Tuff’s book of Not Dragons? He didn’t know what to make of them so I took them. The women gathering and drinking is like all the extra pages and then some. You cannot miss this. Wait, can I come over? No, never mind. I have patrol.”

“You do get to patrol with Snotlout,” Astrid pointed out, somewhat surprised at herself that she was encouraging what looked like a disaster of a relationship.

“This is true. Hey, you might know.”

Astrid swallowed, not sure she wanted to hear what Ruff was going to ask next.

“Where can we go? You know, somewhere that few people would… find us?”

Astrid blinked at her. “What?”

“Come on,” Ruff teased. “You disappear plenty of times, by yourself and with Hiccup. You must know at least one place we could…explore?”

Astrid took a breath, ready to tell her that she didn’t know of any, when she caught a strange sort of sad and frustrated expression on Ruff’s face.

After a moment, before Astrid could speak, Ruff whispered in a rough, quiet tone Astrid hadn’t heard before. “I don’t go anywhere without my brother most of the time, and that dumbass comes looking for me the minute he has something to say, which….” Ruff glanced over at Tuff, who was arguing with Snotlout and Fishlegs over the opening bid for a page that featured something involving barrels.

“Is pretty much all the time,” Astrid finished for her. Ruff nodded.

Astrid glanced at Hiccup. They did have a few places that they’d discovered, or they were one of the very few to remember.

“OK. Remember the raids and the hiding caves?”

“Yeah, there were a bunch, but Tuff and I found them all years ago. Most of them were full of food.”

“You _ate_ our emergency supplies? Seriously?”

Ruff waved a hand at her. “Come on, the raids were over and just about everyone forgot those caves existed after awhile. Good for hiding evidence, too.”

“Hiding ev-. Never mind. I don’t want to know. Anyway. You missed one.”

Ruff’s face lit up with such anticipation that Astrid felt a little better about giving away one of the few places she could reliably be alone with Hiccup. They had found a few others… even if the best one required a few hours of flying time and an excellent sense of direction.

“Tell me!”

“Tell you _what_?”

Astrid rolled her eyes. Of course Tuff would intrude on their conversation. They weren’t paying attention to him.

“Patrol routes,” Hiccup said, before Astrid could answer. She didn’t think that would satisfy Tuff, but after a moment he turned away with a curl of his lip. Clearly patrol routes were nothing to him when he had the knowledge of the Book of Not Dragons to boast about. Astrid glanced at Hiccup, who grinned at her, then turned his attention back to the debate, suggesting again that maybe Tuffnut didn’t really want to pull pages out of a book. For Hiccup, ripping pages out of a book would be akin to harming a dragon.

Ruff nudged her in the arm, and Astrid leaned close and whispered as quietly as she could how Ruff could find the cave, and where to go inside it.

“And there should still be some food.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t eat it all,” Ruff said, baffled and somewhat scornful. “Don’t you know anything? You’re supposed to be hungry afterward.”

“Afterward,” Astrid said, nodding slowly, a gesture she often used to placate Ruff when Ruff stopped making sense. Which was daily. This might be the most lucid conversation she’d had with Ruff in ages.

“Yeah. Afterward.” Ruff’s eyes narrowed. “You know, you should probably take the pages.”

“P-pages?” Astrid felt Hiccup’s relaxed posture suddenly freeze beside her.

“Yeah.” Ruff gave an authoritative nod, like she’d made a very serious decision. “You definitely need them. And you need to go home soon. Not kidding, Astrid. Go. Home.”

Astrid nodded, at a loss for anything else to do.

“I’ll give you the pages in a bit. Have to make sure Tuff is distracted. Give me a minute.”

Ruffnut, never a precise creature in any task, only needed that one minute. She stood up, went around the fire, making sure to cross in front of Tuffnut, and without making her actions appear at all deliberate, managed to nudge him while he was acting out something from the Not Dragons so that he fell over face-first onto the bench and his nose started to bleed.

“Come on, Tuff, let’s take you to mom.”

“D’no,” Tuff said, plugging his nose with his fingers, making everyone cringe. “I’m fine.”

“At least go get a rag from downstairs.”

“Downstairs?”

“Yeah, dummy. In your bag? Which you left under the stairs because it was, and I quote, too heavy and too much like work to carry?”

Astrid wasn’t sure, but it sounded like Tuff replied over his shoulder, “Knowledge weighs a lot, you she-beast.”

It must have sounded that way to Snotlout, too, because he stood up and chased Tuffnut down the stairs, demanding to see the book for himself before Tuff ripped pages out of it. Hiccup excused himself quietly, rolling his eyes, and followed them, most likely to prevent further bloodshed to both vikings and books.

“That was easy,” Ruff said, sitting back down beside Astrid and brushing off her hands dramatically.

“But-“

Ruff shook her head quickly. “Fishlegs already knows.”

A very content-looking Fishlegs was helping himself to some roasted chicken when he heard his name. He glanced up and smiled at them and went back to work, focused entirely on his meal.

“So, here. Be careful, though. These are seriously old.”

Ruff passed Astrid a folded packet of fragile, wrinkled paper she’d withdrawn from a pocket inside her vest. Astrid decided not to think about what else might have been in that pocket. She lifted one side of the fold, then the other with care, worried the paper would disintegrate in her hands.

“It’s ok,” Ruff said, eating some of the food of Astrid’s plate, another thing Astrid decided not to acknowledge. “They look like they’re gonna fall to pieces but the paper is pretty strong. The ink hasn’t faded, either. Have a look.”

Astrid’s eyes widened. The ink, and the images on the pages, hadn’t faded at all, despite the passage of what had to be many, many years.

With a house full of older women, all of whom were warriors and healers, with some who seemed to speak regularly to the spirits and the gods, Astrid had learned a great deal as she grew up. Sexuality, pleasure, awareness of how one’s body worked and how to care for it, the principles of conception, the methods of preventing said conception, and everything in between were common topics at every meal, even breakfast, sometimes before Astrid was fully awake. She knew plenty, and liked to believe she knew more than most, thanks to Gothi and Sigrid.

Now she felt like she didn’t know _anything._ Some of the pictures she glimpsed as she hastily flipped through the handful of pages in her hands shocked her entirely, her face catching fire while her stomach went cold. There were six papers in total, clearly torn from a book, a thought which made her sad on Hiccup’s behalf. Each one had an illustration that took up most of the page, with arrows and language she couldn’t read pointing out different portions of the drawing. Not that she needed an explanation she could read - the image was explicit enough.

One seemed to show how to pleasure a man with one’s mouth and hands, but the technique seemed so bizarre, she almost turned the paper upside down to see if it made more sense that way.

“That one’s the best,” Ruff mumbled around a mouthful of bread. Sigrid had made so many small loaves that she’d left some on the bonfire tower for the riders to enjoy with dinner, and Astrid didn’t even care that Ruff was eating the last one. “You have to make sure that your hand is here, but use your fingernails over there.” Ruffnut pointed to different parts of the illustration, and Astrid was entirely sure she was going to crack into pieces with embarrassment and shock, though she struggled to remain calm on the outside.

Then Ruff folded the top of the pages in Astrid’s hands over and pushed the creased papers against Astrid’s shirt. “They’re coming back - hide them.”

With smooth movements that did not at all reflect the maelstrom in her mind, she folded the pages back into a smaller bundle and tucked them into the bag on her belt just as Tuffnut and Snotlout ascended the stairs to their platform, still arguing. Tuff had his bag over his shoulder, carrying the bulk of it close to his body, out of reach of Snotlout, who seemed determined to get to the item inside. A moment later, Hiccup reached the top of the stairs. He looked exhausted and amused, typical for dealing with Tuff and Snotlout.

Astrid didn’t know what to do with her arms, with her body. If she moved would the pages make noise? Would someone hear them? What was she supposed to do with herself?

Hiccup sat down next to her with a sigh and reached for his food. Of course Ruff hadn’t eaten any of his meal, so Astrid leaned over and took some chicken off Hiccup’s plate. He glanced at her, at her now empty plate, and back at her. “Should I cook more?”

Ruffnut answered for her. “Yes! You definitely want to cook more. You’ll need it.”

He looked at her with a frown. “I’ll need it?”

Ruffnut nodded with what she probably thought was a wise expression, but mostly looked like she was suffering some sort of intestinal distress. “Yes. You’ll need it.”

He shook his head and speared a half chicken with a deft movement, using his knife to trim the fat from the meat. “And why is that?”

Ruff’s answer was halted by a sharp elbow in the ribs, which Astrid felt a little bad about - she was pretty strong. “Uh, winter?” Astrid’s voice was stupidly high. She coughed and tried again. “Winter is, uh, soon?”

He looked at her with a puzzled expression but didn’t argue. It was Berk. Winter was always too soon.

Ruffnut snickered beside her, and as tempted as she was to elbow her again, she ended up covering her own laugh with another cough.

The fire crackled as Tuffnut added more wood and Fishlegs and Hiccup cooked more food for everyone. Snotlout was trying to get his hands on what was clearly a book in Tuffnut’s bag, but he wasn’t successful. Astrid could tell that Hiccup was nervous with a book so near the growing fire, but she also knew he wouldn’t say anything about it. Snotlout looked like he was about to explode.

Then Astrid had an idea. A terrible idea, but an idea nonetheless. She tipped her head toward Ruffnut, but made sure her voice carried over the increasing noise of the ravenous fire. “Hey, Ruff, do you think Tuffnut would read to us from his book?”

Ruffnut was aghast. “Read out loud? Like, reading?”

“Sure.” Astrid shrugged. “Like story time, only, you know, with Not Dragons instead of killing dragons.” She felt Hiccup shaking next to her and knew he was smothering a laugh. She refused to look at him, knowing she’d never be able to control her expression if she did.

Tuffnut leaped onto a bench with an expression of such joy on his face, like he’d been waiting his entire existence for such a suggestion. “Story time! This is an excellent idea, my wrathful friend. Excellent notion.”

Fishlegs looked a little alarmed, but with a shrug he went back to his dinner. He’d finished one chicken and had moved on to some vegetables and still more chicken.

Snotlout, however, was not pleased. He stood up, one hand in the air, the other reaching for Tuffnut. “No. That book is MINE, and it should be my sole property. If you read it aloud, you ruin its value.”

Ruffnut snorted and moved to sit next to Snotlout. Sure enough, a few muttered comments from Ruffnut had Snotlout sitting back down in silence, though he did cross his arms over his chest and scowl. Ruff patted him on the helmet, which made him glance at her in anger, but then he looked again, his expression more concerned, like he didn’t want her to get angry and move away from him.

Astrid felt a small amount of pity for Snotlout growing inside her heart. Very small, she thought. Barely visible or worth acknowledging.

Tuff didn’t need any encouragement, but he didn’t know what to read first. And of course he made his decision slowly, and out loud. “Start with the back pages? The illustrations in the middle? The best part? The part with the longship oar?”

Ruffnut called out in a teasing voice, “Whatever you do, don’t start at the beginning.”

Tuff sneered at her. “You are wrong, you hideous wretch. Wrong! I shall start at the beginning, because you are entirely incorrect. That is the best place to start! At the beginning! I’ve always said so!”

Ruffnut shot a glance at Astrid and winked. Astrid pressed her lips together.

“Did Ruff just wink at you?” Hiccup murmured, not taking his eyes off the fire and the meat he was slowly turning above the blinding hot center.

“Maybe? I didn’t see.”

Tuffnut sat down cross legged on the bench with the book on his lap and began to lecture. “Now, of course, none of you can read this strange, loopy, bizarre text, but after many hours, many _many_ hours of close studying, I can! And I can tell you that this says….” He trailed off, looking over the page in front of him.

“Well?” Snotlout still sounded angry, but he remained seated, arms folded, chin down.

“Absolutely nothing of interest!” Tuff looked off into the distance, a proud expression on his face. “Nothing remotely interested in scholars such as we.”

Fishlegs cleared his throat. “Actually, um, I can read that.”

Tuff stood up so fast Astrid thought for a moment that the book was about to meet a charred and toasty end. “How dare you imply such things!”

“I didn’t imply anything. I said I can read it. That’s not implying.”

“The implication, and don’t think I didn’t notice because I assure I did notice and did not _not_ notice, is that I can’t read it.” Tuff hugged the open book against himself, the spine pressing into his chest, the pages flat and open to the light of the fire.

“I never said you couldn’t,” Fishlegs said, wiping his face with his hand. “You’re right. It’s not very interesting.” He squinted at the open page. “That page is mostly a long, long list of people, thanking them for their assistance in experimentation and research for this important….” He trailed off. “Can you move your elbow?”

“No.” Tuff was sullen, his eyes narrowed. “That isn’t what it says.”

Fishlegs nodded. “Yup, it sure is. If you turn the page, though, I am pretty sure the next one has information about the first chapter, which is all about-“

“Wait a minute!” Snotlout had sat up when Tuffnut looked about to drop the book into the fire, but now he roared his displeasure, standing up and waving his arms. “Are you telling me that _Fishlegs_ has read Not Dragons, and not me? You let _him_ read it?”

“No, _he_ didn’t let Fishlegs read it. _I_ let Fishlegs read it.”

Ruff’s announcement was met with complete and dreadful silence.

Then there was chaos. Tuff began hollering at Ruffnut for stealing his Not Dragons, while Snotlout spluttered his outrage that Ruff would share the book with Fishlegs and not with him. Fishlegs shuffled down the bench slowly, his arm protecting his plate. He would have tripped over one of the cooking spears if Hiccup hadn’t stood up and grabbed it, handing Astrid the one he was using without looking to see if she had it. She did, because her reflexes were excellent, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the near-brawl in front of her.

Then Hiccup reached over her, pulled Tuffnut by one braid, and tipped him away from the bonfire. Then he grabbed hold of the Not Dragons and slid it out from under Tuff’s arm when Tuff began to gesture with both hands at Snotlout, clearly forgetting that he was holding a book over an active, open fire.

“I knew he was about to drop it,” Hiccup muttered as he sat down. “Turn the chicken over?”

She did as he asked, looking at the book he held in his hands. He didn’t open it, and the others stopped arguing and stared at him. No one would dare take a book away from Hiccup. They wouldn’t be able to. He’d probably shoot plasma blasts from his eyes if they tried.

Astrid was about to tease him and ask him to lead story time when Ruff’s expression caught her attention.

 

…

 

Hiccup swallowed hard. His stomach was a stormy ocean of curiosity, relief, and embarrassment, the latter so sharp and intense his hands grew cold and sweaty. He felt like he’d accidentally set fire to a building again, expect that hadn’t happened in years. He hadn’t had a reason to be this embarrassed in ages. But on impulse, trying to keep the book from falling into the fire, he found himself the center of everyone’s attention with the Book of Not Dragons on his lap.

As he’d suspected, it was a nearly exact copy of the book he had hidden in his room. The binding was in better condition, but the symbols on the cover were the same, and it was about the same size and weight. He wanted to open it, but he couldn’t, not in front of Astrid, in front of everyone.

Maybe he could give it to Fishlegs and ask him to read it. That would distribute some of the embarrassment. But he couldn’t do that, not to Fishlegs, especially since he was already so shy and probably stressed enough with the wedding so soon.

Astrid shifted on the bench beside him, and he struggled to find a joke, something to laugh off the situation he’d placed himself in.

Then she spoke, low and quiet, nudging him with her leg to make sure she had his attention, signaling him that something was up.

“Hiccup. Catch.”

Then she tossed the handle of the cooking spear at him, and he reached with one handd to grab it, nearly losing the chicken into the fire.

The weight of the book disappeared from his lap.

Cool air filled in the space where Astrid had been, and a breeze ruffled his hair.

She’d stolen the book of Not Dragons. Grabbed it off his lap and ran down the stairs.

Ruff stood up, screeching a Berserker cry and pointing at the stairs where they could hear Astrid’s footsteps as she ran. “Get her!”

Tuffnut, Ruff, and Snotlout all took off, shaking the bonfire tower as they thundered down the wooden staircase, yelling Astrid’s name.

He stared at the top of the steps, mouth open. Then a mocking chuckle and a voice that sounded like Ruffnut’s reached his ears. “You’re welcome, Hiccup!”

What in the name of Thor?

Hiccup looked at Fishlegs, who wore an identical expression, eyes wide and mouth open in shock.

“I have no idea, Hiccup. No idea at all.”

Where was Astrid going? Why had - what was going on?

“You going to eat all that?”

Hiccup looked down to where Fishlegs was gesturing, at the now perfectly cooked chicken on the spear in front of him.

“Uh, no. No, I’m not.”

He took out his knife, cleaned the blade, and carved the chicken, saving some for Astrid and sharing the rest with Fishlegs. They ate, talking quietly about random things, both of them listening for the sound of footsteps returning to the bonfire tower. The only interruption to their conversation was a stray and distant shout as they pursued Astrid, who was probably not planning on being caught.

After an hour or so, the fire had died down, and neither of them moved to feed it.

“Didn’t Astrid say something about the twins bringing sweets?”

“Oh, yeah! I think Ruff brought them.” Fishlegs dug around under the bench, pulling out an old helmet, a small hammer, some animal bones, and a shoe, which he tossed aside with a shrug. “Ah ha! Here’s her bag.”

He sat back down on the bench, but froze with his hands on the top. “Do you think it’s booby trapped?”

Hiccup paused, chicken halfway to his mouth. “Good question.”

“She brought them, so she wouldn’t necessarily set a trap for herself, right?”

“I don’t think so, no, but….”

“Yeah.”

Fishlegs felt around the sides of the bag. “There’s definitely something in here. Soft sided, no sharp edges.”

“Could be food. Could be explosives.”

Fishlegs nodded slowly. “I’m leaning toward food.”

Hiccup didn’t reply, but he braced himself for some sort of mess as Fishlegs untied the leather cord at the top and opened the bag.

“Oh, what in Odin’s name did she do?”

“What? What is it?”

Fishlegs’ face had gone white, and was now rapidly turning red. He pulled out a packet of waxed cloth, a smile on his face. “She brought almond cake! Or pieces of cake - it doesn’t travel well.” He opened the packet revealing a very crumbled but delicious looking pastry. “It’s my favorite.”

He took a large piece, then passed the packet to Hiccup, who took some for himself, and a small piece for Astrid. He wasn’t sure when, or if, she was returning to the bonfire, but he didn’t want her to miss out.

“Should I save some for the twins and Snotlout?”

“Definitely save some for Ruffnut. I think that’s her favorite, too.”

Fishlegs folded the remaining third and slid it back into her bag. “She can have the rest. It’s up to her if she wants to share with the other two.”

Hiccup leaned back against the pillar behind him, listening for the sound of Astrid, or any of them, returning to the bonfire.

“Well, I gotta get home. Guess we should cover the fire and clean up here. Nice of them to leave the chores to us.”

“Don’t worry about it, Fishlegs. I’ll clean up and take care of the fire.”

“You sure?”

Hiccup nodded.

“Ok, then. Thanks, Hiccup. See you tomorrow.”

As Fishlegs’ footsteps disappeared into the night, the sound of the fire was the only thing he heard. It filled the air around him, crackling and snapping, covering the low, rhythmic splash of the ocean, the call of the birds, and the stray shouts of vikings finding food, or mead, or both, down in the village.

Eventually, he had to presume that no one, not even Astrid, was going to come back. He shook his head, made quick work of the cleanup, and used sand and water to douse the fire. If they came back, they’d have a rough time starting it again, he thought with a shrug.

After putting the cooking spears aside and placing the random items Fishlegs had found back under the bench, Hiccup gathered up his things. He was about to leave when his foot brushed against something under the bench he’d been sharing with Astrid, sending whatever it was scuffing across the wood floor.

She’d been carrying a bowl when she found him in the forge.

He reached down and found it, surprised how heavy the wood was. Or maybe what was in it. He picked it up, tucked it under his arm as she had earlier, picked up the plate of food, and headed down from the bonfire tower.

But when he reached the bottom of the staircase, he wasn’t sure which way to go. Ruffnut had said most of the village women were heading to Astrid’s house, so that probably meant a good third or more of Berk was already there. He couldn’t bring her food without causing all sorts of speculation and twice as much questions. Gods, and if her mother answered the door….

No, that wasn’t a good option.

He started walking toward the village, then toward the forge, then toward his house.

He didn’t see or hear any sign of her, or of the others.

Where would she have gone?

Was she waiting for him somewhere? He had no clue where she could have run off to, where she would be hiding. It would take him hours to find her if he searched every place that came to mind.

Two dragons soared past overhead, and he heard Snotlout complaining as Ruffnut lectured Belch. Patrol had started. They must have given up on finding her.

Where was she? Had she given him a signal, one he missed or didn’t interpret correctly?

Eventually he made it to the front steps of his house, and after a moment spent looking over the village, searching for a flash of silver hair or the sound of her voice, he turned and went inside, shutting the door behind him.


	40. Window Practice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonsoir mes amis! Thank you for all the comments, the kudos, and for checking on me. You are all lovely, so here is another chapter.

Astrid had been working on a jump and roll maneuver with Stormfly, mostly for the purpose of getting into and out of windows. A specific window, and not her own, but as she was on the run with a rather heavy and awkwardly shaped book trying to evade angry well-fed possibly tipsy Vikings, any window would do.

She just needed a dragon - her dragon.

And a window.

But first her dragon.

She stopped to catch her breath behind one of the houses, her back to the wall and her body curved over the book, her arms shaking.

She thought for sure she’d be caught. Tuffnut was very fast when his pride and potential profits were on the line. When she was sure there were no hunting Vikings nearby, she doubled back toward the bonfire tower. Her brief rest and the relative ease of running downhill allowed her racing heart to slow enough to draw the deep breath necessary to signal her dragon.

In seconds, Stormfly swooped silently out of the sky, grabbed her carefully by one arm, and pulled her off the ground.

It was while she was dangling over the sea off the edge of Berk that she realized the limitations of her plan.

She couldn’t flip herself onto Stormfly’s leg while holding a book.

She couldn’t pull herself up onto Stormfly’s leg like she had in the past, not with one hand.

She couldn’t have Stormfly toss her into the air to land on her saddle. Her weight would be off with the book in her arms.

She definitely couldn’t launch herself sideways and control her movement.

She had to remain dangling by one arm, held tightly but carefully by lethal claws nearly as long as she was tall. She flexed her arm to keep from injuring her shoulder while shifting her grip and her legs to keep hold of the massive, increasingly slippery book.

She really hadn’t thought this through at all.

It would serve Tuff right if she dropped the Not Dragons into the sea.

But she wanted to see what it was, to read it for herself, and she wasn’t giving up that chance.

No way.

It was while she was trying to think past her embarrassment that she came up with a plan. 

“Stormfly! Trees!”

With a squawk and a rattle of her quills, her dragon banked sharply back toward land, heading toward the mountain, toward the pine trees where she practiced throwing her axe.

Stormfly tilted to the right, probably expecting her to lean out over one side so she could slide her hand across the soft, frilly top of each tree, greeting them individually - another maneuver they’d practiced. But she couldn’t lean anywhere. She’d drop the book. It would be destroyed if it fell against tree branches then smashed into the ground - if it even reached the ground. Picturing the book impaled on a branch, pages and cover ruined, made her cringe.

Hiccup was a terrible influence on her. Stupid book. 

“Down, please. To the grass.”

Stormfly gave a quiet chirp and circled lower and lower until Astrid gave her the signal to open her claws. Landing with a forward roll while holding a book was not something she’d practiced, and she nearly knocked the breath from her body trying to come to a stop.

“I don’t think I like books at all anymore,” she said to Stormfly, who had landed beside her, awaiting their next game.

She dropped it onto the grass and bent over, resting her hands on her knees until she caught her breath. Stormfly tilted her head to one side, then the other, trying to examine this strange thing Astrid was carrying. Behind her, in the village, she could hear the faint sounds of Tuffnut yelling her name amid Ruffnut’s laughter.

Ruffnut.

Ruffnut had signaled her, glancing at the book, then at Astrid, then at the stairs. Astrid hadn’t thought it over; she grabbed the book from Hiccup’s lap and took off.

Now she had to figure out where to hide it.

Or, more specifically, hide herself and read it.

She was betting this book would be more trouble than it was worth.

She stood, brushed herself off, and picked up the book again, tucking it under her arm as she approached Stormfly to ask her opinion. She didn’t expect Stormfly to answer, but she knew on some level, Stormfly always understood what she said, or what she meant.

“So how do I slide off your wing through my window with a book under my arm? It’ll throw off my landing. Too sloppy. I’d hit the wall.”

Stormfly made a low chattering noise.

“Yeah, I’m not supposed to be there, so I can’t make any noise. They’ll come upstairs and make me leave.”

But Ruffnut had said she should go home, hide herself, and listen in. And it was late enough that everyone would have arrived already… which meant they were talking and probably drinking, and not being very quiet.

“Stormfly, we’re going to try the spin drop. Over my roof.”

Stormfly did not respond, which spoke volumes as to her opinion of this plan.

After a few tries, Astrid devised a way to strap the book to her back using spare rope from her saddlebag, and had fastened it tight against her spine. She didn’t think it would shift too much, not in the minutes it would take to fly from the meadow to her home, and she hoped the cords wouldn’t damage the book. Tuffnut wouldn’t care, and neither would Ruff, but she’d still feel guilty damaging a book.

She leapt into the saddle, making sure it too was tight against Stormfly’s back, and wouldn’t shift when she stood on it.

“Ok, girl, like we practiced. Let’s go.”

The short flight gave her just enough time to second guess herself, but not quite enough to make another plan. So, she took a deep breath, stood in a low crouch on Stormfly’s back, and as they approached the roofline of her house, she tapped her toes twice on Stormfly’s shoulder.

“Now, girl!”

Stormfly tilted her body to the left, then slowly stretched out her wings. As they coasted on an air current past her roof, Astrid leaped from the saddle and slid down Stormfly’s wing as she had done hundreds of times.

The difference here being that neither of them were on the ground.

They flew past her house once, then again. As she'd suspected, a cloud of voices, noise, and revelry surrounded her home. It sounded like a smaller version of Meade Hall on a feast day, or the hot springs on a cold afternoon: loud, happy, and constant chatter. 

On the third pass, she tested the ropes, and moved into position. She had to time her jump so that once she slid off the edge, the next stop would be through the large window in the roof that opened into her room, and onto the floor next to her bed.

And she had to land softly enough that no one downstairs would hear and go investigate. Nearly, impossible, but worth a try.

Her feet slid down the mottled blue and gold of Stormfly’s wing, and it felt familiar, easy, and safe - until her feet reached the edge.

She had no time to think. She could only react.

Her toes touched the edge of the windowsill as her body cleared the empty space of the window, and she crouched to slow her momentum as much as she could.

Then her feet hit the floor. Instinctively she curled into a forward roll, spreading the weight and sound of her impact across her body. One sharp corner of the book stabbed into her shoulder, and she pressed her lips together to keep from reacting aloud. She came to a stop just under her desk by grabbing hold of one side.She froze.

It was _not_ a good landing. Loud, clumsy, and kind of painful. She was sure someone heard. She held still, waiting, ready to turn and run back to the window. 

The noise below continued uninterrupted, with no pause of silence or confusion, or suspicion.

All she heard was the familiar, warm sound of probably every woman in the village talking over one another, laughing, chattering, and shouting in a rising wave of merriment that grew in volume, then subsided.

Astrid felt a rush of relief tinged with hurt.

She’d made it. She was in her room. 

She wanted to be downstairs, be a part of that gathering. She wanted to be surrounded by all those voices, her family and the women who cared for her.

Her mother had forbid it, and Sigrid hadn’t put up much of a fight on her behalf.

Well, she was here now.

Astrid stood up carefully, making sure to avoid the squeaky boards that would betray her presence upstairs, and made her way over to her bed. There was enough of a gap between the floor and the wall that she’d be able to hear most of what they were saying.

Pulling off her shoulder armor and her skirt took three times as long when she needed to be silent. One clank of the metal, and her mother or Sigrid or probably Gothi would know she was upstairs.

She wanted to make noise, or hop down the stairs and sit among them, act like she hadn’t been told to stay away.

With her hands tightly gripping the shifting arcs of metal that made up her armor, she scowled at the stupid effort to hide herself in her own home.

She should have been there.

She was of age.

She already knew everything they were talking about.

But no, her mother insisted that she avoid the house, for whatever stupid reason, and miss out on all the fun.

Well, she wasn’t missing anything now.

Just as slowly, she pulled on a soft, long sleeved tunic with front pockets, one she rarely wore since the pockets were impractical for holding any kind of weapon. Then, with fluid, silent movements, she sat cross legged on her bed, lifted the Book of Not Dragons onto her lap, and listened while she opened the cover.

The first few pages of indecipherable text matched the cacophony of noise coming from below. Nothing made sense, and she couldn’t follow any of it.

Then she heard someone, maybe their neighbor, call Turid’s name. She froze.

They were there to tell Turid everything she’d need to know, according to Ruffnut.

Astrid listened carefully.

Whoever it was started talking about baking for dinner. Astrid rolled her eyes and shook her head, turning back to the book in her hands. She flipped through it slowly, looking for evidence of pages torn out.

Nothing was missing.

So much for “extra pages.”

Wait.

The pages.

They were in the pouch attached to her skirt, which was on the floor next to her bed.

Astrid frowned. Her skirt made a lot of noise. She wasn’t sure she could reach it without revealing herself.

Then someone, she wasn’t sure who, made some joke that caused all the women to shout with laughter - a very drunken, uncontrollable laughter, the kind that wasn’t inclined to stop. Seizing the opportunity, she set the book aside, leaned over the edge of her bed to grab her skirt, and pulled it toward her.

As she did, she caught sight of something under the bed.

Dropping one hand to the floor and lifting her skirt across her lap with the other, she leaned further to see what it was.

A cask.

And a bowl?

What in Odin’s name?

She hooked one foot onto the far edge of the bed frame, shifted slowly to make sure the wood didn’t creak, then reached with both hands to pull the cask and bowl out from under the bed.

It was mead. A small cask of mead, similar to the one Hiccup had made and brought to the falls all those weeks ago, with a cup strapped to the top.

Had Hiccup been in her _room?_ And he’d left her a drink?

Then she lifted the lid off the small bowl. It was warm to the touch - but when she saw the color, she knew it was one of Sigrid’s bowls, the ones she made, all of which Astrid loved, because Sigrid somehow made them with a tight fitting lid that held in the heat.

Inside was stew, still steaming hot, with a piece of bread over top of it soaking up the gravy.

Sigrid. She must have figured that Astrid would sneak back into her room, and so she’d left Astrid some dinner.

Astrid felt her chest grow warm inside. Her aunt was....

No sense letting good stew go to waste.

Pages could wait; hot food could not. She ate quietly, listening to the tiny portions of conversation she could decipher.

They weren’t talking about much of interest, to her disappointment. Mostly jokes about mead, stamina, and keeping Hoark interested. As if that would be a problem, Astrid thought with a shake of her head. He looked at Turid with such wonder, especially after the betrothal. She’d seen him walking with Turid across the village the day before, and he looked as if he was afraid to breathe deeply or look away, like if he did, she might disappear.

He looked at Turid like Hiccup looked at dragons, or at the horizon....

She felt her face burn with deep embarrassment, even though she was alone.

Someone downstairs made another joke that broke everyone into drunken laughter, and she used the noise as cover to set aside her now empty bowl and pour herself another cup of mead. The stew hadn’t quite been enough. She’d left the bonfire before the chicken was done, and the bowl was one of the smaller ones, so she was still hungry. At least the stew kept her stomach from growling and giving away her presence in her room.

The mead wasn’t bad, though, she thought as she took another sip. It wasn’t the spiced honey mead she liked, but as far as she knew, only Hiccup or Stoick had any. It was very popular, and there wasn’t much of it, so Stoick tended to hide it. She felt the warmth of her meal spread slowly through her body, followed by the more languid warmth of the mead, and topped up her cup again.

Leaning back against the headboard of her bed, she picked up the folded pages. She had to hold the edge of her cup in her teeth so she could use both hands to unfold them silently.

A different kind of warmth flooded her body.

There was the picture of an erection she’d seen briefly at the bonfire, with arrows and instructions.

Now that Ruff had pointed out what part was “teeth” and what part was “fingernails” and which part of the diagram was… something else, more of the image made sense. And the part that didn’t make sense…well, the drawing made her curious to try things until it did.

The next page was similar, another drawing of an erection, but this time the sketch of a hand seemed to be… behind whomever it was? Or maybe it was the same person’s hand?

Face warm, she shrugged and turned another page.

Her breath stopped.

Her heart might have stopped, too.

She realized with a cold stab of fear that the room below had gotten very quiet, too.

She listened for movement, mentally placing everyone in the room downstairs by where their voices had been.

There was no sound on the stairs, moving toward her. No one seemed to be moving around or leaving, either.

Then she heard someone, and she had no idea who, start talking in a quiet voice about taking over, and switching places.

The pages in her hand were instantly forgotten.

She heard about things she’d never imagined.

She wanted to write down what she was hearing, but couldn’t risk the noise, so she paid close attention, scarcely breathing, trying to commit every word to memory.

Slow progress….

A lot of oil or liquid wax…

 _Piercing_?

That’s what it sounded like who ever it was had said.

Followed afterward by “delayed gratification” and “a shout you’ll hear for miles.”

The women started laughing and chattering to each other, frustrating Astrid, who could no longer hear whomever was explaining everything. The last thing she could make out was, “He’ll thank you for ages, and in all the best ways.”

Thank her for _what_ , exactly?

Maybe it was in the book.

She did have the Not Dragons right next to her. 

She slid the bowl and the cask far under her bed when the laughter and shouting grew louder again, folded the loose pages back into a bundle, and reached for the book to begin studying.

She hadn’t studied in years, not since before Dragon Training. This promised to be even more fun, with the same sequence: study, then practice. 

She pulled the book onto her lap, but beyond looking for images to match what she had just heard, the knowledge that was sending her blood spinning through her body like Stormfly in a barrel roll, she couldn’t concentrate on anything.

Her mind was scattered, her attention flying across the village to wherever Hiccup was. Probably at home. He’d been headed that way when she’d watched him from her hiding spot, before she’d made a break for the stables, when Tuffnut had spotted her hair and taken off after her, yelling for the others.

Astrid had just turned another page to try reading the strange language and sometimes strange pictures when the sound of her mother’s voice saying her name sent cold panic though her body.

“It’s upstairs, I bet. Astrid’s got it. I’ll be right back.”

“No, no, dearie,” she heard Sigrid say loudly. “You stay here. I’ll go up and get it.”

“Ach, I know where it is, Sigrid.”

“Already on my way - why don’t you throw another log on the fire? I’ll go upstairs.”

“No, I’ll go.”

Astrid had no idea who was moving toward the stairs, and only seconds to get out of her room. 

She couldn’t bring the book with her. It was too heavy, way too awkward to carry. Even with another growing wave of noise to hide beneath, she couldn't risk carrying it.

She closed the book, shoved it beneath her pillow and her skirt, then yanked her blanket over the edge so it draped to the floor. Thrusting the folded pages into her pocket, she crossed her room with two steps and jumped over the edge of the window onto the roof edge as she’d done hundreds of times.

Windows were so much easier to manage without books.

She perched on the wooden beams that held up the curving roof, holding on to the window frame with one hand, and listened to the footsteps on the stairs.

She couldn’t tell who it was. Sigrid wouldn’t turn her in, wouldn’t reveal she was there - she’d left dinner and mead for Astrid, after all, clearly anticipating that she’d sneak back in to listen to the fun. But her mother would probably look for her, peek out the window to see if she was hiding. Her mother knew all her tricks.

Suddenly, Astrid didn’t want to be home anymore, didn’t want to be hiding in her room. She didn’t want to be listening to anything they had to say.

Then she spotted Stormfly circling the village and heading over the water. Astrid whistled just loud enough for Stormfly’s excellent hearing, and in another moment she was leaping off the roof back onto her dragon, who flew away so fast Astrid’s eyes watered. They ducked behind her house and flew up toward the springs, out of sight of anyone who might be looking at the sky to find her.

She felt her braid begin to unravel and come down as her hair blew back, and smothered a laugh with her hand. 

“Thanks, girl.”

 


	41. Other Windows

The sun sliced through the sky at a low angle, sending a blade of gold light across Hiccup’s lap. It was warm, but he stayed up in his room, in bed, sketching. He had the barest wisp of an idea, but if he tried to draw it, nothing seemed right. So he kept trying. The light was just enough to see without lighting a candle, and he didn’t want to add to the warmth collecting in the eaves of his house. He’d already removed his shirt, but it was still warmer than was comfortable.

Candle or no candle, he didn’t want to stop sketching. If he did, he might think about the book, and Astrid, and where she’d gone off to, and how he’d almost had the chance to compare both his book and Not Dragons page by page.

Better that he focus on something else, something boring and mathematical, like scaffolding design for new water basins for the dragons.

Sometimes drawing was a way to release pressure, to get all the ideas crowding the space of his mind out onto wider expanses of paper. Sometimes it was a way to meditatively process how he was feeling. Sometimes it was a distraction.

Like right now.

He lifted a new sheet of paper onto the board he held on his lap, the sunlight covering it in a warm glow.

Then, a fast moving shadow interrupted the light.

And then, Astrid.

She was in his room, diving through the window. She tried to land in a crouch by his bed, but her momentum carried her into crumpled spin onto the floor.

“Now, that landing, that was sloppy.”

Hiccup’s heart nearly stopped. His pencil skittered away from his hand and across the floor before he could stop it. “Astrid! Wh-what… what are you doing here? Where were you? Where’d you go?”

He stopped himself before he asked, _Where’s the book?_

She was out of breath, but with confident ease, she stood, brushed herself off, and pushed the riot of her hair off her shoulder. Reaching down, she grabbed his pencil from the floor beside her foot and tossed it back to him.

He caught it without taking his eyes off her. “Where were you? I was looking for you.”

She grinned. “I know. I was watching you.”

“From where?”

“I’m not telling.”

“Oh, come on,” he said, reaching down to tighten the cuff of his leg so he could stand.

“No, don’t get up.” She crossed the room and sat down on the opposite side of his bed, leaning against the wood at the base of it.

There had been a handful of times she’d been in his room, mostly when he was ill and she dropped in to check on him, maybe two or three total. In just about every case, she sat across from him.

He’d memorized what she looked like on his bed ages ago and yet he couldn't look away. 

Then he noticed her armor.

It wasn’t there.

Her hair was loosened in a long, silver tangle that reached past her lap - something she never allowed. Her hair would constantly get caught in the metal. But now, her shoulder plates and her metal skirt were both gone.

“Wait, where is - is your armor up a tree again?”

She grinned at him. “Maybe.”

Hiccup stared at her. “Why are you here?”

She raised one eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Strategic planning.”

“Astrid, this….” This wasn’t like her. She wasn’t normally this reckless. Brave, yes. Fearless, always. But reckless? 

He didn’t want her to leave. He was so happy to see her in his room, he could barely control his breathing. Everything about her was soft and warm, half lit by the low sun and half concealed in the rumpled shadows of her clothing. He was having trouble thinking straight.

“Why are you here?”

“I need a reason?”

“To be this risky? Yes. Is something wrong?” He leaned forward a little. “Did they catch you? Are you okay?”

He looked closely, and instantly knew her answer would be no. If Tuffnut had caught her, she’d still be in her armor, not a faded tunic he hadn’t seen her wearing before. If there were a problem, she’d have said that first. She’d have landed, thrown his shirt at him, and told him to hurry up.

“Nothing’s wrong, Hiccup.” There was a slight catch in her voice, a wrinkle of tension that told him there was something bothering her.

He wanted her to stay more than anything, but the longer she sat in his room, on his bed, the more the danger of discovery increased.

Why wasn’t she concerned?

It wasn’t like her to take such a huge risk, to ignore the possible outcomes and… her hair looked like the center of the forge fire. White, almost too bright and painful to take in at once.

He wouldn’t have minded seeing her image burned into his vision every time he closed he eyes, but at that moment he needed to see clearly, to figure out what was wrong, and what was going on.

He glanced at her, then away, down to his leg, and at the pencil he was spinning in his hands. “So… why are you here?”

For a half moment, she looked annoyed that she had to explain herself. “I wanted to see you. With no one around.”

“So you picked my _house_? Everyone is around here at one point or another. It’s like hoping for silence in Meade Hall.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No, not ever.” He’d have to torment himself later for saying that out loud. “But I don’t want you to get caught.”

He’d thought his room, his house, was by unspoken accord off limits for the two of them alone.

Maybe it was just his idea, since, in his mind, when he allowed himself to ponder it, he only pictured her here when she lived here.

They’d never spoken about that at all. Ever.

With a small needle of cold piercing his chest, he realized that she might not have thought about it or might not have followed those thoughts on the same path he had.

He had no idea how to ask her or explain.

And he had no idea what she was doing there now. His thoughts were racing, clambering over one another, trying to solve the puzzle of her presence against the explosive joy of her being there in the first place. This wasn’t like a cave, or a stand of trees. This was his room, in his house, with one…well, maybe two exit options, though he wasn’t about to jump off his own roof.

He had to decide. Convince her to go, or allow her to say. A monstrous feeling of wrongness filled him at the idea of having her stay, and he forced himself to speak.

“Astrid, this isn’t a good idea. Anyone could come in.”

“I did.”

“Exactly. But….”

His bed seemed both too small to hold them both, and too large to cross toward touching her. But she moved when he did, and he caught her fingers in his as she reached for him.

Hiccup drew a deep breath, looking at her. “Astrid, I want you here more than anything, but not if your being here is dangerous.”

She frowned again, then leaned across the remaining distance like it was nothing. “You’re right.”

Then she kissed him, and everything changed.

…

 

Their kiss was hot with magnetic intensity, and neither could pull away. _This_ was why she was there. More of this.

Was it better when it was forbidden?

Was she drawn to the danger of being discovered?

No, she didn’t think so.

Kissing him was good - better than good - at any time.

But now was intensity and fire, and she wanted more. She wanted to explore more of the danger, more of the possibilities she’d learned, more of everything. Everything around her was irritating and annoying and she wasn’t supposed to be at home, but she’d rather be here than anywhere else.

Here was better than home.

She fell, or maybe she pushed him, or both, but she landed against him, the tangle of their bodies pushing the blanket to the floor.

Why would he have a blanket? It was so hot - hotter now that she was feeling him beneath her body, under her hands. There was fire everywhere she touched.

Someone pulled back, moved to take a breath, and she wasn’t sure who, but she had room to whisper.

“This is why I’m here. It was unfair, how we left things.”

His face burned red in an instant. “I’m…fine.”

“Really?”

She could tell he was trying to think of a way to extract himself, but she could feel that he wanted her to stay, that he wanted her, full stop.

She lowered her mouth to his neck, to his chest, nuzzling the braid in his hair, her eyes closed, breathing uneven, trying to think clearly.

His skin was soft beneath her fingertips. He was wearing so little, just leggings and old ones at that, and she wanted to explore, to feel him writhe the way she had so many times, to have him trying to keep quiet when inside, everything was shouting. There was so little between her hands and his body, barriers she could easily move. It would be simple to tear and toss aside the things in her way.

But the feeling of being in his arms, resting in the warmth and softness of his body, his scent and his breathing surrounding her, caught her attention. He was worried, a little tense. Watching him, seeing the tension surface in his jaw, his neck, knowing he was at war with himself a little, changed things. His hands moved up her arms, soothing and pulling her closer. Suddenly she didn’t sizzle with the need to conquer, to rip her way through the barriers between them.

She didn’t want to move.

Ever.

She had ideas when she’d jumped through the window, but now she wanted to pull the blanket from the floor and cover them both, and play within his embrace for the rest of the week or longer.

She raised her head and saw him watching her, knew he was trying to think of a way to stop what was happening. She rested her chin on one hand, her other hand playing with the braid at his nape.

“You’ve had some mead.”

She hadn’t expected him to say that. She frowned. “I- I”m not drunk.”

“No, I know. But you’re more…relaxed, maybe?”

She laughed. “No, more focused. Things are much clearer.” Her stomach rumbled loudly, and she laughed again, this time in embarrassment.

“Oh, right. Hang on.” He slid away from her, and she rolled onto her side to let him stand up. “I have just the thing.”

“What-“

Hiccup crossed to his desk and lifted a metal bowl that was upside down on the surface. “You didn’t get a chance to eat.”

“Is that…chicken?”

His face was a little pink as he brought the plate to her. “Yeah. Saved you some.”

She took it from him, wonder and joy spreading through her. There was chicken, gone cold and yet still tempting, and a small cup with some white cake inside. “What is this? Is this almond cake?”

Hiccup settled where he had been, now beside her, leaning on the headboard with his legs crossed in front of him. “Yeah. Ruff brought some for Fishlegs.”

“Aw, that’s his favorite.”

“That’s what he said.”

“And you saved me some?”

He shrugged, but his flush deepened. “Yeah.”

Astrid devoured the chicken, ravenous after twice having not enough dinner that evening. Hiccup watched for a moment, then picked up his paper and pencil again, sketching as she ate.

“Oh, my gods, Hiccup. I was starving. Thank you.”

He flashed a grin at her, a glance so quick but so potent she felt it in her chest, and returned his attention to whatever he was drawing.

She picked up the almond cake. “Want some?”

He shook his head, focused on the paper in front of him. “Had some. That’s for you.”

She smiled as she ate, watching as his pencil flew across the page. This wasn’t idle sketching. He was drawing something with intensity and purpose. She couldn’t have explained the difference beyond the speed of his pencil, but she could tell he was taking images from inside his head and putting them on the paper, something she marveled at every time she saw him do it.

When her plate was empty, she put it on the bed in front of her, then shifted closer to him. She pulled the long, tangled coil of her hair over her shoulder to try to unsnarl it and leaned over to look at his work. “What are you working on? Is that a map?”

He nodded, flipping his pencil over his thumb and catching it as he looked at his work.

“We need another map of Berk?”

“No, no - I’m looking…um. I’m trying to plot the mountain paths.”

She could hear everything he was trying not to say in his voice. Honestly, why did he even bother? “Hiccup.”

“I am not a bad liar,” he muttered.

She nudged him with her arm. “Yeah, you are.”

He grunted at her, his pencil flying across the page again. She was going to have to wrestle it out of him or something.

Picking up her plate, she leaned forward to put it on the floor, clearing the area for her imminent attack. Her tunic caught under her bent legs and pulled across her back.

Hiccup made a choking noise and pushed his drawing board aside. “Astrid, what did you do to your back?”

“Huh?” She tried to peek over her shoulder but couldn’t see anything. Hiccup carefully pushed her hair over her opposite shoulder, and slid the neckline of her tunic further down her back.

“You have a massive dark red bruise.” Her breath caught as he ran his fingertips lightly over her skin. His touch didn’t hurt, but she was sore. “Gods, Astrid, what happened? Did you hit a wall while you were running?”

“No.” She slid the plate beneath his bed to avoid having to answer. She tried to figure out how to explain that she’d somersaulted through a window with Not Dragons on her back.

Then she froze. Hiccup had begun pulling the snarls from her hair with his fingers, gently unwinding the braid and separating the untangled sections. The soft, almost reverent way he handled her hair melted her inside.

“Well, it wasn’t a wall.”

“Not a wall?” He sounded confused, like he’d forgotten what they were talking about. His focus was on her hair, on his hands, on ensuring he didn’t pull or cause her pain.

“No. A book.”

His hands stilled. “A book?”

“Yeah. I fell on Not Dragons.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah.”

“You still have it?”

“Yeah - hidden in my room. Ruff probably wants it back but I have no idea where she is.”

“On patrol. With Snotlout.”

“Oh, right.” His hands were still in her hair, unmoving, his body as stiff as his voice. She turned to look at him.

He was looking somewhat vacantly at his desk, like he was trying to figure something out.

She opened her mouth to ask him what he was thinking about when a door slammed below.

“Hiccup? Ye up there?”

 


	42. Without Direction

Hiccup’s entire body flinched, but he carefully removed his hands from her hair. She stayed perfectly still as he shifted on his bed. When he stood, ice poured down her spine, either from the absence of his warmth or her own increasing horror.

“Yeah, coming, Gobber.”

His voice might have sounded normal to anyone else, but Astrid heard the panic and felt smothered in guilt.

Covered by the sound of his halting footsteps as he headed toward the stairs, she moved off the bed, and silently leaped toward the window ledge, pulling herself up and onto the roof, quick and quiet. She thought she heard Hiccup drop something, maybe to cover her movements.

She curled into the shadow of the chimney, perched on the roof by his window, frozen and still.

“No need, Hiccup.” Gobber’s voice floated up through the window to reach her. “Just letting you know your dad, he’ll be in the great hall tonight. Too much to do.”

That was kind of odd. Gobber as a messenger?

“D-do you guys need help?”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’ll be off. See you tomorrow, bright and early!”

The door slammed, and then the low, off-key sound of Gobber whistling filtered through the air, punctuated by the uneven scuff of his wooden leg.

She heard Hiccup’s more even gait cross below her, and then saw his hands on the ledge beside her. Pulling himself up easily, he sat down beside her, driving the spiked end of his leg into the wood to keep himself steady. They sat in a pillar of shade facing the water, the sun beginning to scorch the sky red, the shadows of the roof reaching long and sinuous toward the sea.

“You ok?”

She nodded. He’d put on a shirt, the one that was a little too small. He pushed at his prosthesis,the fabric stretching across his shoulders as he watched a few chips of wood fell over the edge to the grass below.

“Toothless is tough on roofs.”

She nodded again. She felt awful that her recklessness had almost gotten them caught, and her worry erupted from her mouth before she could stop herself. “Are you angry?”

He looked at her. “No.”

“I’m sorry-“

“I mean, I’m confused, but I’m not angry.”

She nodded, her lips pressed together to keep herself from speaking aloud.

He seemed to be waiting for her to say something. When silence spread between them, irritating her more than her own stupidity, she tried to think of something to ask him, but his own question stopped her. “

“I don’t…. You….” He swallowed and seemed to brace himself. “Astrid, why would you risk your-“

Her temper flared, and she scowled at him, but she spoke in a firm, though muted voice. “I’ve told you, Hiccup. My honor is _not_ your responsibility.”

His reply was immediate, his words almost biting the end of hers. “No, but mine is.”

She frowned, drawing back. “What-“

“Astrid. How I treat you matters. How people treat you matters, too. I won’t have anyone-“

He was being ridiculous. “Hiccup-”

“Let me finish.” His voice was low, harsh with the edge of his frustration. He so rarely became upset, especially at her, it was surprising, and a little alarming. She pressed her lips together again and nodded.

“Maybe you don’t remember how it was, before…Toothless, before everything. But I do. I remember….” He drew a deep breath, then let it out in a frustrated, jagged sigh. “I don’t want you to _ever_ know what it’s like when the whole village looks down on you, sneering at you, angry and disappointed. It’s awful. And I…you….” He gestured with one hand like he was trying to catch words out of the warm air that surrounded them.

His hand dropped to his knee, and he slumped a little. “I can’t let you anywhere _near_ that happening.”

She stared at him. His face was pale against the sunset, which still burned the sky in wild flames.

“Saying no is the most difficult thing. You have no idea how much I wish I had unlimited, unending time…just…with you. But I can’t…I can’t put….”

He glanced at her, then stared at the horizon. It was like he couldn’t look at her and say any of this.

“You’re too important, and I….”

He stopped when she put her hand on his shoulder, her fingertips brushing the ends of his hair. He looked so twisted with misery and anger, she had to stop him. She had to fix this. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

He turned to look at her, so she leaned in kissed him, and with all the fire and incredible heat that always existed between them, she felt something new, a sort of quiet patience.

He grinned at her when they broke apart, though his eyes were still dark, the line between his brows still tense. That tension smoothed away when he put his hand over hers.

His voice, at least, was normal, the easy tone both soothing her and grabbing her attention. She always noticed his voice, always wanted to know what he would say next. “Want to go somewhere, have dessert?”

That was not what she expected. “Dessert?”

He shrugged, and her eyes followed the movement, the shifting muscles of his arm and shoulder. Why were his arms so - “I found some pears. In a bowl.”

“Oh! I brought those.”

“I know. I brought them here after you ran.”

She laughed.

"We have to go somewhere else, though.”

“Why? Gobber just said your dad's at Meade Hall all night."

Hiccup freed the metal tip of his leg from the roof, then pressed a switch on his prosthesis, which drew back the spike, replacing it with the metal base he used for waking. “He’ll know I'm here, and he’ll think of something he needs me for.” He shifted carefully toward his window. “So, we gotta go."

"Seriously?" 

Instead of replying, he dropped into his room and she followed, neither bothering with a silent landing or any kind of stealth.

Hiccup pulled the covered wooden bowl she’d brought to the bonfire from beneath his desk, and passed it to her. 

Then he reached across his body and pulled his shirt off. 

Astrid dropped gracelessly on his bed, the bowl resting on her lap between tense hands.

He dug through a pile of clothing on his desk until he found another shirt, this one a little looser, much to Astrid’s disappointment. 

He was smiling at her when the fabric cleared his face. “Trust me, Astrid. I have a lifetime of experience avoiding my dad.”

She laughed at that. 

“So, where do you want to go?”

Astrid glanced up at the window she’d jumped through twice now. 

“Anywhere where there are no windows. Enough windows.” 

He glanced at the window in his roof with a shrug, his half smile making her chest burn.“Well, we have to get out of here somehow.”

Astrid stood up. “Fine. One more window.”

“Nah, I’m kidding. We can use the door.”

“Thank the gods.”

…

 

Astrid whistled to Stormfly, who responded immediately, landing on the grassy hill behind Hiccup’s house. Stormfly seemed more than happy to fly again, though she seemed a little miffed to have two riders. She kept looking over one shoulder at Hiccup, seated behind Astrid. As they flew out over the water away from the village, Astrid secured the lidded bowl in her front saddlebag, then turned to her passenger.

“So, where should we go?”

Hiccup frowned as he thought, and she could tell he was mentally flying all over the island. He sat back a little, eyes narrowing.

“Wait, should we go get Toothless?”

Hiccup didn’t answer. Astrid waited for his mind to fly back to the present, and allowed Stormfly to coast over air currents and dive toward the sea as she circled below the cliffs.

They could just fly. True, they’d probably run into Snotlout and the twins on their patrol, and people would see them flying together and someone would say something to her later, probably her mother, asking why they were both on Stormfly, where was Toothless, where did they go….

Hiccup’s hand moved from her hip to her shoulder, then slid slowly down her arm, soothing her. Astrid let out a breath slowly, and relaxed against him. His hand shifted across her stomach, causing her mind to recall another time he’d touched her stomach - their visit to the cove, leaning against Toothless, avoiding Stormfly’s supervision.

Now Stormfly was helping them avoid supervision, which made her smile. Maybe they could fly straight toward the horizon, head to that cloudy island again. She put her hand on Hiccup’s knee, about to suggest it, when she realized they’d be taking an even bigger risk by making such a long trip. Their absence would definitely be noticed if they were gone for that many hours.

Stormfly circled the docks, then headed east around the cliffs and pillars of rock that bordered their island. She flew around them in random circles, the tip of her wing dipping into the water on one side, then the other. The tilting motion brought her riders closer together, their bodies leaning away from each turn.

This was what Astrid wanted. Well, sort of. She wanted what Hiccup had said: time, alone, just the two of them. It was becoming more and more rare, and what little they had was now bordered by worry and awareness. Maybe the answer was to fly together like this, or together on Toothless. They did have a full island patrol the night of the wedding.

Hiccup had shown her the schedule his father had drawn up, surprised and a little confused. She’d been a little surprised, too, but mostly grateful. After all the crowded stress and expectations of the wedding were finally over, she would be able to fly and patrol for hours, just the two of them with their dragons. She was looking forward to it, more than she could describe.

Stormfly turned toward the hidden beach below the cliffs, one they used to have to sail to before they had dragons, and Astrid spotted movement near the cave entrances. She recognized the man's helmet, the other person's gait, and knew who they were at a glance. With a gentle tap to Stormfly’s shoulder, she guided her dragon away from the coast, leaving her neighbors to enjoy their privacy. Sigrid had set them up years before, and now they had several children, and like Astrid, precious little time alone. Astrid looked over her shoulder as they disappeared into the cave. She envied them more than a little.

Hiccup’s arm tightened across her body, and she put her hand over his, idly tracing the strength of his hand, counting the tiny ridged scars from his work in the forge. His fingers moved over her shirt, the warmth of his touch reaching through her shirt.

Maybe she could build a shelter at the top of one of the sea stacks, disguise it with leaves and branches, and have Stormfly drop them off. It would be hard to land on, and they might plummet into the sea, but maybe it would work.

Then Hiccup sat up straight and put his hand on her hip, pulling himself slightly closer. “Wait. I have an idea.”

She twisted to the side so she could see his face. “Sure, but what about-“

His wicked half smile and the squeeze of his hand melted the last of the ice inside her. “Can’t bring Toothless. We’re going up the falls.”

“Up the falls?”

The flight took little time at all, but he wouldn’t answer any of her questions on the way. When they reached the cove, he directed her up toward the top of the wall of rushing water.

Astrid relayed his instructions to Stormfly, and her dragon spiraled up through the mist, circling toward and away from the cliffs where the waterfall began its descent.

Both of Hiccup’s hands were on her hips, gripping her tightly, and he leaned forward, looking over her shoulder.

“If you tell me what we’re looking for, here, I can probably help.” She had to shout over the roar of the water.

He pointed to what looked like a shadow on one side of the falls. “There. See that? That’s where we’re going.”

“What is that?”

“A cave. Well, a tunnel but that part’s a cave.”

Well. That sounded promising, except…. “There’s nowhere for Stormfly to land.”

“Toothless and I flew in through another cave on the far side. Plenty of room there.”

“Should we go find the other entrance?”

“I don’t think I can guide Stormfly through. Toothless used sound navigation and it was so dark inside, I couldn’t see anything.”

Astrid scanned the rocky ledges and channels worn by the varying strength of the waterfall, looking for a place to land.

“I don’t think it’ll work, Hiccup. There’s nowhere for Stormfly to grab hold, not in a place where we can both jump off.”

He frowned, but didn’t argue.

“What about the cave behind the falls down by the pond?”

After a long pause, he nodded slowly. Astrid was about to direct Stormfly to land when Hiccup grabbed her shoulder and pointed. “Wait. Hold on.”

“What?”

“Fly the other direction, across the falls toward the west.”

Stormfly didn’t need her to repeat Hiccup’s directions. She shifted her wings, turned, and flew in a straight line across the front of the water fall, close enough that a fine mist covered them.

He pointed and she followed the line of his arm to the shadow.

“Look. There. See the cave? It’s wide enough if we fly in from this angle, Stormfly can land without getting hit by the water.”

She looked at the spot he indicated, and then over her shoulder again. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

Using hand signals, vocal commands, and years of practiced flying, Astrid directed Stormfly in another wide arc away from the falls, then toward the cave opening, half hidden behind the waterfall. “You can do it, girl. There’s plenty of room for us…. _I hope,”_ she added under her breath.

Hiccup slid one hand up to her waist, across her stomach, and pulled her back slightly. “You don’t trust me?”

“When it comes to flying, yes. When it comes to landing…eh, not always.”

But true to his instructions and hers, there was plenty of space for Stormfly once she cleared the edge of the cave. It widened behind the falls, so that one side of the opening was covered by the rushing water, but the space within allowed Stormfly to land easily, with minimal shaking of her quills.

Astrid jumped down and turned to offer Hiccup a hand.

He jumped without assistance, landing with most of his weight on his right leg. “What are you talking about? I’m great at landing.”

Then his leg slipped. 


End file.
